


The Conspiracies of Princes

by clarityhiding



Series: Conspiracies & Couriers [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000, caroline hill - Freeform, listen when I say 'space opera' understand that I mean space SOAP opera, space people having space adventures in spaceships in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Jason just wants to get his cargo to Kandor, he doesn't have time to deal with this kid he found hiding in the wall of his ship.Or: The JayTim space opera where there's a fake marriage, a marriage of convenience, and an arranged marriage.





	The Conspiracies of Princes

**Author's Note:**

> I, uh. Had this idea that I'd write something for JayTim Week: Tropes & AUs? And then I decided it should be a space opera because I was vaguely sure space was one of the prompts and also I have a weakness for space people having space adventures in spaceships in space. Only I started writing it without checking the prompt list and it spiraled out of control and this is why I don't do challenges, sorry.
> 
> Anyway, I'm posting this for Day 5: Fake/Pretend Relationship // Royalty AU because even though it's a space opera, I'm having a crappy day and this fic was definitely an exercise in "how many tropes can I cram into one fic?"

The R.C. _Redwing_ is four weeks out from Gotham, three weeks out from the Academy when the replicator starts acting funny, insisting it's nearly out of NutriPacs. Which, okay, yes, he was in enough of a rush that he didn't bother to stock up before leaving, but he also figured he eats enough fresh stuff that it wouldn't be an issue. Plus, the replicator log doesn't show nearly enough use in the last four weeks to warrant it zipping through nearly twenty NutriPacs like nobody's business.

He considers the data, narrows his eyes at the logs, then turns on his heel and stomps out of the galley and into the corridor beyond, studying the wall panels as he strides along. Halfway to the main cargo bay, Jason spots what he was looking for—a panel mounted slightly askew. Ugh, ridiculous. He can't believe this is happening to him, this is what he gets for trying to be a nice guy, showing off all the ship's features to grumpy little trolls.

"Really, kiddo? Is this the best idea? Your dad's going to freak and there's no way the family's ready to deal with a second lost princess." Taking a mag-grip from his pocket, he clamps onto the panel and tugs it free. "You're not Damian," Jason says stupidly, staring down at a pair of wide, blue eyes.

The stowaway swallows, a straw slipping from his mouth. The other end of the straw is jammed into one of the missing NutriPacs.

Well, crap.

 

* * *

 

The stowaway says, "You can call me Tim," when asked for a name, which is sneaky enough phrasing that Jason takes it to mean it's probably not the kid's actual name.

He's hauled the kid out of the smuggler's cubby and back to the galley, plunking a bowl of last night's potato leek soup down on the table in front of him and ordering the kid to eat.

"Thanks," Tim mumbles, gulping down the soup like it's food of the gods, which isn't all that surprising. It's been a decade and a half, but Jason can still remember being desperate enough to eat straight out of NutriPacs. The sludge has all the calories and nutrients the average lifeform needs, but it's also tasteless and has the consistency of grainy, too-thin pudding. There's a reason anyone who can afford it runs the stuff through a replicator first. "This is really good."

"It's amazing what kinds of options you can have if you're willing to eat fresh vegetables," Jason says as he heats up another bowl for himself.

"Fresh is expensive, people notice if it disappears," Tim says into his soup. "NutriPacs're cheap."

He winces but refrains from comment, since he can't fault that misguided logic, remembering when he himself thought much the same way. From what he's seen of Tim's skittish behavior and raggedy, ill-fitting clothing, he doubts the kid has the worldly experience to have realized that Jason wasn't about to notice if some of the current bumper crop in aeroponics went missing. So he keeps his mouth shut and grabs his own bowl, settling down at the table across from Tim.

"How'd you die?"

Jason freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth as he tries to process, tries to think of how to respond to that. "Excuse me?" he finally manages to choke out as he struggles to tamp down the panic in his head, calm his erratic heartbeat.

"Sorry, was that rude? Just, I've never—I mean, your hair, and…" Tim's voice gets weaker and weaker until he just trails off into nothing, like a balloon losing air. Jason catches a brief glimpse of bright pink cheeks before the kid ducks his head and his face is completely obscured by shaggy, too-long bangs.

He resists the temptation to touch his own hair. He only bothers to dye it when he's going to be around other people, and with Gotham nearly a month behind them and Kandor more a month and a half away, his roots are definitely showing. Tim no doubt snuck onto the ship back on Gotham, the kid would be familiar with the way things work in the Kane System, would know what the white streak in Jason's hair probably means.

Swallowing his mouthful of soup, Jason sets down his spoon. "If you're going to be traveling the galaxy, the first thing you need to learn is that it's pretty common for a human's hair to turn white as they grow older. Sometimes happens with trauma, too."

Tim nods once, a small, sharp movement. He still doesn't lift his head, just tugs his bowl a little closer to his chest. Crap. Now Jason's gone and scared the kid back into his shell. "I'm not mad. It's just not something you can really go around asking people."

"I know, sorry, I just—your accent, you've got to be Kaneish, and I figured—" Tim gulps audibly, hunching his shoulders. "I'm just curious about it. Them. The Lazarites."

"I'm not a Lazarite," he says a little too sharply, a little too quickly, but Tim doesn't appear to notice, seems to accept the statement at face value.

"No, no, I got that," Tim says.

"Good."

Neither of them says anything more after that, both acting like they're completely focused on finishing their meals.

 

* * *

 

" _Redwing_ 's not due to make port for another six weeks, so I'll let you stay on that long, but you're going to have to pull your weight. I don't allow freeloaders on my ship," Jason tells Tim and sets to making use of him in any way he can. In all honesty, he isn't expecting much—from the way he's dressed and the kid's willingness to eat raw NutriPac sludge, it's likely Tim is one of the kids who eke out a living on the streets of Gotham's capital city despite the Dual Thrones' best efforts at social reform. That kind of living makes for tough but unskilled workers, in Jason's experience.

Tim manages to surpass his expectations from the start. Every task Jason sets him to, the kid picks up with the quick sort of ease of the truly gifted, and he can't help but wonder how Tim's managed to keep himself off the radar of the many unsavory types that infest Gotham's cities, looking for raw talent like this to exploit.

"This is a two-person ship," Tim says on the third day while he's holding the light and passing tools. For his part, Jason is trying to fix the wiring that Damian's cat just had to chew through earlier in the journey. The broken connection is in the landing gear, so it wasn't a problem to dock at the Academy, but he has a schedule to keep and part of that schedule means _Redwing_ has to be capable of touching down planetside.

"Is it?" Jason asks, more than a little bite creeping into his words. "I hadn't noticed." Hadn't noticed that he was running himself ragged to get everything done alone on the ship in the time between dropping off Damian at the Academy and finding Tim.

"I was just wondering why you don't have a crew," Tim says in small voice, the same one that reappears every time Jason acts the least bit aggressive. It tugs at his heart and makes him soft in ways he can't afford to be, wondering what happened to Tim before the kid found the guts to sneak onto _Redwing_. "Sorry."

"Will you stop apologizing all the time?" he snaps, then immediately regrets it as Tim shrinks backwards and inwards, makes himself into a smaller target. "I'm not mad," Jason says, which he seems to be saying with increasing frequency since finding the kid. "Not at you, at least. You're right, it should have a bigger crew. Has in the past."

Tim inches back in again, close enough to set a spool of wire in Jason's outstretched hand. He fidgets, playing with the holes in the cuffs of his too-large sweater.

Jason sighs. "We had a fight, they went off to do their own things. I'm not the easiest person to get along with, in case you couldn't tell."

"That's not true," Tim says, words leaving him a rush. His eyes are wide, startled-looking, like he's surprised he said anything at all. Still, he squares his shoulders and barrels on. "You're great! You always check to make sure I understand what needs doing and help me if I don't, you never yell, you come to find me when it's mealtime. You haven't gotten rid of me."

Jason stares at him, aghast. "We're in the middle of an _expanse_ , where the hell would I leave you?"

"Well," Tim says, though he doesn't say anything more, just glances out the nearby window, at the dense blackness outside, the distant stars beyond.

Jason's gut twists and he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe deeply and count through the rising feelings of panic and rage. "I'm not going to space you for sneaking aboard and stealing forty credits-worth of NutriPacs, kid," he says when he finally has a handle on himself again.

"Not a kid," Tim says, and his eyes go large and startled. Probably shocked by his own backtalk, Jason thinks, though Tim's face hardens after a moment, mouth thinning to a straight line. "Not for much longer, at least."

There's a story there, something in the way the words are said, in the steely determination on Tim's face. There's a story, but Jason doesn't ask, won't press for details. Everyone has a story and, in his experience, most of them shouldn't be shared.

 

* * *

 

They're replacing faulty tubing in aeroponics when Jason asks. They've been working side-by-side for nearly two weeks now, and in that time most of the kid's skittishness has disappeared entirely, so he figures they're at a point where Tim might actually give him a real answer. "Where are you headed?"

"Where are _you_ headed?" Tim shoots back almost immediately. Once he got over his initial fear that Jason would space him at the slightest provocation, Tim began talking back more and more often. After two weeks of snarking, the kid's reached a truly outstanding level of sass.

"Kandor," Jason responds easily. It's no great secret, after all. "You don't sneak onto a spaceship without a plan, Tim."

"Maybe you don't. I did."

"Alright then. What are you running from?" Jason asks, because everyone is either running to or away from something. Some people even manage to do both at the same time.

"Stuff," Tim says, trying to shrug the question off, but Jason can see it bothers him, knows the kid well enough by now to notice all the ways he pulls in, closes himself off.

"Fair enough." He isn't about to press further, figures everyone has secrets they'll never be ready to share with anyone else. He certainly does.

"It's not that I don't trust you," Tim says quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "It's just that I got mixed up in some bad stuff and it's really better if you know as little as possible. For your own safety."

Jason snorts. Typical melodramatic teenage bullshit. "You on the run from the law, Tim?"

The boy grimaces. "Honestly? The way I left things, I'll be lucky if it's only the law that's after me."

 

* * *

 

"Why Kandor?" Tim asks one evening, glancing up and nearly slicing his finger instead of the carrot he's supposed to be chopping. Jason is trying to teach him enough culinary basics that they'll be able to share cooking duties. So far, the galley is proving itself the exception to Tim's uncanny ability to excel at everything. "You have family there?"

"Hardly, do I _look_ kryptonian?" Jason asks with a snort, shaking his head. "Naw, I have a shipment to deliver. _Redwing_ is a high-end cargo carrier. Small shipments of luxury items that are too delicate to be transported under normal freight conditions." Not strictly true, but close enough.

Tim narrows his eyes at this explanation, and Jason wonders if he's already put things together. The kid's bright enough, and there was a time when Jason's ugly mug was plastered all over half the spaceports in the sector. "If you're so legit, why have you got smuggler's cubbies on your ship?" is all Tim asks though, so it seems his fears of discovery are unwarranted. For now, at least.

"Different systems have different laws when it comes to certain goods. I'm not going to take some roundabout route just because I've got a load of kryptonite and the Kandor System happens to be the fastest route to my port of sale."

Tim jerks away from Jason like he's been stung, the knife clattering from his hand to the counter, knocking chunks of carrot everywhere. "You deal in kryptonite?"

"Actually, I don't." Because most kryptonians may be supercilious asses, but one of his closest friends is at least half-kryptonian and Jason has standards. "It was just the first well-known example I could think of. You got a problem with kryptonite? It's a legitimate fuel source when properly stabilized and shielded."

"It just feels wrong," Tim says, staring at the floor as he fiddles with the weave of his sweater, apparently lost in thought. "Using something that was once home to a whole civilization." Kneeling down, he begins picking up scattered bits of carrot.

"People use wood and stone and all kinds of things that other creatures used to live in and on." Not that Jason disagrees with Tim. It doesn't seem right, using pieces of a dead planet to make your ship go a little faster. And, of course, there's the whole 'deadly to kryptonians' aspect.

"I don't know. Just… this is different," Tim says. He rises to his feet and drops the carrot pieces in the sink, staring into space and tugging absentmindedly at the front of his sweater.

"Hey," Jason says, tugging Tim's hand free and putting the chef's knife back in it. "These carrots aren't going to chop themselves."

 

* * *

 

They're in the cockpit, Jason walking Tim through on the differences between taking _Redwing_ into a spacedock and landing her at a planetside spaceport, when the communications light starts flashing. He checks the attached code and swears softly to himself when he sees who it is that's hailing him.

"Trouble?" Tim asks, barely glancing up from the pad in his lap that he's been using to take notes.

"Not sure," Jason admits. The comm code is Barbara's and with her, it tends to be an even fifty-fifty split between calling to check up in on him and calling because something's gone wrong and she needs some sucker to do her dirty work for her. "Why don't you go pick stuff for dinner while I take care of this. Some of the tomatoes looked close to ready yesterday."

"If you want me away from the helm, just say so," Tim mutters as he slinks off to the aeroponics bay. "It's not like I can tell when something's ripe. _Plants_."

"Ask the pad if you're that unsure," Jason calls after him, because there's no sense in wasting good food by picking it too early. He waits until he knows for certain the kid is well-clear of the cockpit before thumbing the comm switch and bringing the hail on-screen. "Babs, always lovely to hear from you," he says, flashing his most charming smile.

_"Uh huh, I'm sure,"_ she says. She's rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth is tugging upwards, so he counts it as a win.

"What, you don't think I enjoy hearing your dulcet tones?"

_"I think you know I tend to complicate your life more often than not,"_ she says. That's what he likes about Babs—she's nothing if not realistic. _"Look, I know getting the package to Kandor is high priority, but do you think you can squeeze in a small detour to check into something for me? One of my operatives has gone missing."_

"Really? Can't your people take care of themselves? Always thought that was one of the requirements of the job." Most of Babs's operatives can wipe the floor with Jason after all, and that's with Dinah quitting and running off to get hitched in a completely different kingdom.

_"Normally I wouldn't worry, but RedX is something of a freelancer. They get in touch whenever they have something for me, which is usually one or two times a week on average. This time I haven't had any contact in over a month. Plus, last time I_ did _hear from them, they implied they were on the verge of something big."_

Jason may not be as sneaky as some of his family, but even he can listen to the silences and hear what Babs isn't saying. "Do you even know who this person is?"

She glares at him, which means the answer to his question is a definite 'no.' _"I always get good intel and have never had a reason to doubt RedX's trustworthiness. It's hard enough finding someone willing to snoop on the Thousand Houses as it is."_

"You have a person in the Thousand Houses? Seriously?" Jason asks, unable to keep his surprise from voice. 

Officially, the principalities of the Kane System's misleadingly-named Thousand Kingdoms fall under the jurisdiction of the Dual Thrones back on Gotham, Kane's one habitable planet. In practice, the Thousand are spread out across any number (certainly more than a thousand) of the asteroids that are all that remain of Kane's fifth planet, which makes it nigh-impossible for the Dual Thrones to maintain any kind of presence, let alone order, on all but the nearest and largest of the asteroids. The Thousand Houses of the Thousand Kingdoms are a law unto themselves, ruling much of the region without any kind of input from the rest of civilized space. Organized crime, piracy, and worse run rampant throughout the region, preying on the ordinary people that live there while at the same time making outrageous profits from the unique resources found in the Thousand.

Barbara has been trying to get a mole into the Thousand Houses for as long as Jason can remember. That she's finally managed it only to have whoever it is disappear on her is definitely a matter for concern. He straightens his shoulders and gives her his full attention. "My package will keep. What do you need me to do?"

 

* * *

 

Despite the confidence he showed Babs on taking her errand, a couple of hours later finds him resorting to security measures he normally only takes when absolutely necessary (his face _was_ on every newsfeed for a while there, and every little bit of subterfuge helps, sometimes), which means Jason's busy scrubbing the remaining dye from his hair when Tim pokes his nose into _Redwing_ 's cramped head.

"We've changed course?" Tim shifts nervously, pulling at the cuffs of that ridiculous sweater of his, stretching them out, poking his thumbs through the holes that may or may not be a part of the original weave.

"Took on a side job. We'll still make it to Kandor, don't worry." Jason's less than pleased by Barbara's request that he make a detour to try and scare up some information about her missing informant, particularly since it'll mean taking Tim into a rather unsavory part of space, but it wasn't like he could tell her that. Not without admitting to having an unsanctioned passenger on _Redwing_ , something Jason definitely shouldn't be doing with the kind of cargo he's carrying.

"A side job means you have to look like a Lazarite?" Tim asks, frowning at the black water swirling down the drain.

"Hey," Jason says sharply. "What did I tell you about Lazarites?" It's a silly thing to be concerned about, but he would prefer to break Tim of stupid habits now rather than later. Especially considering _Redwing_ 's current heading.

"Sorry," Tim says, rolling his eyes and clearly not sorry at all. "What kind of side job? Can I help?"

"You can stay on ship and out of the way." 

"We'll see about _that_ ," Tim says with a snort. "Maybe you're not the only one who'll have business to take care of."

"Tim, if you're worried you've pissed off people on both sides of the law, Coryana Station is the last place you want to show your face," Jason tells him. "Best thing you can do is lock yourself back up in that cubby I found you in until we leave. Coryana's port security isn't much better than the scum that visits the station, and they like to take souvenirs from the ships they're supposed to be guarding."

"I can take care of myself," Tim insists, which is laughable, honestly. Particularly considering how he still shies away every time Jason so much as raises his voice.

"On Coryana, being able to fight back just makes you that much more valuable of a commodity." 

 

* * *

 

Jason carefully fits the panel over the smuggler's cubby, making sure the false screws line up properly this time. He's already double-checked the biolock on the cargo hold with the package, so it's just a matter of slipping into his Red Hood duds. It's been nearly a year since he last wore them, a year since Artemis left for parts unknown after Jason went behind her back to hand Bizarro over to the geneticists on Kandor.

He hates that he lost them both, but he stood by his choices then and continues to stand by them now.

Heading back to the helm, Jason double-checks that _Redwing_ 's systems are still hidden behind the _Outlaw_ decoy program. Roy always claimed only a handful of people in the quadrant could possibly suss out the fact that the ship isn't the _Outlaw_ , and less than half of those could break the decoy and access any of the sensitive data stored in the recesses of _Redwing_ 's computer, but on a place like Coryana, Jason believes in better safe than sorry. Plus, Tim's been making noises about fine-tuning the ship's computer, and he's a little worried the kid may've compromised Roy's security measures.

Of course, there's the small problem that Jason doesn't really know what to look for if the security _is_ on the fritz. The ship's still broadcasting the dummy _Outlaw_ ID code, and he wants to spend as little time as possible here, so he's going to have to assume everything's fine and leave it be, much as he's loathe to do so.

On his way off the ship, he raps against the panel hiding the cubby. "Listen. I should be back in a couple hours, but if I'm not, you take the ship straight to Kandor and tell the port authority you're on the _Redwing_ and you've got a package for the queen."

A speaker down the corridor buzzes to life and Tim's voice floats out, soft and anxious, because of course the kid's hacked the ship's intercom. Of course. _"What about you?"_

"Don't worry about me," Jason says as he presses a precautionary domino mask over his eyes before activating the hood-torque, letting the red plasteel plates slide up and over, slotting into place. "I'm sturdier than I look."

 

* * *

 

If Coryana is a hellhole, the Desert Rose is hell's armpit. Unfortunately, it's also the best bar for lightyears around to get dirt on what's going on in the cruddy underside of the galaxy. The last time Jason was here, he ran himself ragged, keeping Artemis from starting a brawl before he got the intel they were there for, keeping Bizarro from wandering away and seeing something he shouldn't, keeping everyone else from realizing the crew of the _Outlaw_ weren't your typical pack of ne'er-do-wells. This time, he figures he can keep a low profile, buy a few drinks, ask a few questions, report back to Babs. He has no idea how he's going to find her missing operative when he has next to nothing on this 'RedX' beyond the fact that she has tracked some of their past hails to this particular station. At the same time, Jason also knows she doesn't expect too much from him, so if he comes up empty, she isn't likely to take it out on him. Probably.

"Missing people in the Thousand Houses?" The disreputable-looking man behind the bar shakes his head. "Haven't heard anything, unless you mean the lost princess."

"Are you telling that old yarn again, Rafael? The lost princess is an urban legend," someone calls out, and then everyone's talking at once, because it's a story that's been around for decades, one that's been morphed and mangled all out of shape with each new retelling.

"Plus, the lost princess came from Thanagar, everyone knows that."

"Really? I thought she was from Kandor."

"Idiot, the Kandorian princesses never went missing."

"Uh, then why don't you hear about the older one anymore, huh?"

"Because she became queen when the king abdicated, idiot."

"What about Tamaran? Aren't they missing a princess?"

Jason lets all the stories, all the rumors roll over him, waiting to see if there are any new ones, any that might have a grain of truth, that might hint at what could have happened to Babs's mysterious informant. The one about Kare of Kandor is new but unsurprising, since it's true that she only just recently ascended to the Kandorian throne, what with all the craziness that's been going on lately in that region of space. The rest are all claims Jason has heard before, but then he's been collecting lost princess stories since he was a kid.

"Anyway, what d'you care, Hood? Thought you smuggled contraband, not people," Rafael the bartender says, eyeing Jason suspiciously. "Come to think of it, haven't seen you around these parts in a while."

"Been busy." Busy trying to stay on the straight-and-narrow, busy trying to keep his friends alive, his family safe. Not to mention, Jason had sort of hoped he wouldn't need to don the Red Hood again. It's a great identity for blowing off steam, but it's also a reminder of a darker time of his life, when he let anger decide a lot his actions instead of logic and common sense. "Some of us have to do _real_ work."

"Is that so," growls a bruiser at the other end of the bar. "Seems to me that big lug you were with last time you came through was wearing the crest of the Kandorian royal house. Strange friend for a smuggler."

Jason very carefully keeps his body still, trying not to show the tension thrumming through him as he turns to face the speaker. "Really? You think so?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light, unoffended, non-confrontational. When the Red Hood last passed through Coryana, no one recognized the symbol on Bizarro's biosuit as a bastardized version of the seal of House El. But then, there hadn't been a Kandorian coronation playing over all the frequencies for a solid week just a few months before either. "I dunno, I can't see it. The Kandorian crest is a big ol' S. My buddy just really likes the number 2."

"Yeah, but your buddy also looked a hell of a lot like the ex-king of Kandor," someone else calls out. "Angus is right. You keep strange company for a smuggler, Hood. And I've heard stories."

"Stories?" Jason lets the hand that isn't wrapped around a bottle slip down below the bar to rest on butt of his blaster. "What kind of stories?"

"Stories 'bout how maybe you're not as crooked as you claim to be. That you been seen palling about with hoity-toity royals."

"Royals want contraband just as much as the rest of us, and they got credits coming out their asses. Can't blame a guy for wanting customers who can actually pay," Jason counters, though he doesn't take his hand off his blaster. He'd rather talk his way out of this if possible, but he's willing to shoot his way out if need be. The Desert Rose has seen plenty worse, over the years.

"Yeah." The bruiser, Angus, rises to his feet and starts a slow stalk around the bar towards Jason. "But last time you came through you was running cargo outta the Thousand for House Sionis, and all of House Sionis got busted up and taken in by space marines right after. Ain't nobody seen you since. Figured Red Hood got himself caught with the rest, but here you show up, all bright and shiny like you never seen the wrong end of a space marine's boot."

Jason slides off his stool, catching one of the rungs with the toe of his boot; he'll throw it if he has to, but he's thinking it'll make a better shield than projectile once the shooting starts. "Oh, well, that's—"

"—what happens when you take your honeymoon at just the right time," a new voice says, and the half of the room that's been gearing up in anticipation of a bar brawl turns to see who the newcomer is, Jason included. The woman in the doorway of the Desert Rose is small and hard, black boots and tight shorts, with legs encased in holey-fishnets stretching between the two.

"Why, as I live and breathe, it’s Caroline Hill," Rafael crows. "Don't tell me you went and got yourself hitched to a loser narc like the Red Hood."

Caroline, or whatever her name is, tosses her ponytail and shrugs, a rolling wave of movement that makes the too-large sweater she's wearing cling to her body in all kinds of very interesting ways. And, actually, that sweater— "Red Hood, a narc? Please, he hasn't got the brains of a half-grown pup; if he were a narc, he'd've bought it for good years ago," she says, voice thick with a twang straight out of the Thousand. "Won him in a card game last year. Got a real nice ship out of the deal, too, and it's definitely worth putting up with his sorry ass for."

"You tell 'em, babe," Jason says, letting himself relax, though he doesn't reholster his blaster just yet. "I ain't no snitch."

"Did I say you could speak?" 'Caroline' snaps, and Jason finds himself involuntarily pressing backwards against the bar, his teeth clacking shut. "'Sides, never heard of a Lazarite being a narc. Unless you think Ra's is letting cops land on his little piece of paradise now?"

"Red Hood's no Lazarite," Angus growls, though he's looking a little unsure of himself and he's definitely moving to put as much space between himself and 'Caroline' as possible.

"Sure he is. Sweetie, turn off that silly thing and show the nice people so we can ditch this joint. Some of us have _real_ work that needs doing."

"But—" The Red Hood never takes off his helmet, it's part of his mystery. Jason rinses the dye and always wears a second mask just in case something damages the hood, but it's never been necessary. The glare intensifies and Jason gulps, fumbling at the helmet's catch, thumbing in the code to deactivate it the rest of the way back into the torque.

"Madre de dios," Rafael says, and Jason gets it, really he does. Despite what he told Tim when they first met, there aren't that many people running around with lazar streaks outside the Thousand. "Caroline's caught herself a Lazarite."

"I got no beef with Ra's al Ghul," Angus says hurriedly, backing away even faster now.

"Hood, we're leaving," 'Caroline' snaps, and Jason's entire body jerks forward at the stamp of one of those high-heeled boots. " _Now_."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Jason mutters, intent on hightailing it out of there before the entire bar comes to their senses and realizes they've been scrambling to kowtow to a street rat with an admittedly impressive set of fake tits.

In the station corridor outside the Desert Rose, Jason waits for the door to slide shut behind them before rounding on his companion. "What part of 'go straight to Kandor' did you not understand?" he hisses.

"Not here, sweetie. Wait until we're back on the ship," Tim says, patting his cheek before taking his arm and speed-walking them back to _Redwing_.

 

* * *

 

Jason waits until the hatch is sealed and the ship has safely decoupled from Coryana and is one again en route to Kandor before trying again. "Tim—"

"Before you bawl me out, I _told_ you I had my own business to take care of," Tim says, tugging off the butterscotch-brown wig and shaking his head to try and free his own hair of the matted tangled it's worked itself into. "It wasn't a big deal to grab you on my way back."

"And the get-up?"

"You had a point about it being a good idea for me to keep a low profile right now," he admits with a shrug, and this time the action is all Tim, has none of rolling fluidity of Caroline's movements. "I borrowed some things you had stashed away, whipped together an alright disguise. No one else was using the stuff." Which accounts for the tights, the boots, the hot pants, and maybe even the wig; all of them are things Dinah probably left behind when she ran off to become a queen-consort. Jason isn't certain where the falsies came from, and he's not sure he even wants to know. But it doesn't explain everything.

"The lowlifes at the Desert Rose seemed to know you. Rafael called you Caroline," Jason points out.

"Yeah, I, uh, didn't exactly expect anyone to recognize me," Tim admits, squirming slightly. "It's possible I have an alter-ego with a netvid channel and a very loyal fan base." When Jason glares harder, he wilts slightly. "You knew I was running from something. And anyway, you're in no place to judge. You said you just haul freight from port to port, and what do I find when I go looking for a decent pair of boots?" He reaches under the console and pulls something free, flinging it at Jason's chest.

He catches it and stares. It's his R.C. badge, the golden wings curving bright and shiny against the leather mount and definitely not locked away in the armory where he left it after grabbing a blaster earlier. Thank god Jason stores his R.C. ident card in the safe, behind a triple-encrypted biolock. If Tim had found that, seen the name listed… "So I'm a R.C. Newsflash, Tim—they don't let just anybody dock at the Academy. All those little royals, future leaders of the quadrant? You have to be vetted six ways to Sunday before you're allowed anywhere near Academy space. I still haul cargo, it just tends towards small packages, information, and the occasional passenger run."

"Rumor has it that the Royal Couriers Corps acts as spies for the League." Which, really now. Jason would love to know who's starting those rumors, because that's a little… Well.

"I'm not a spy," Jason says, because, technically, he's not. At least, he's not supposed to be one. Not anymore.

"Uh huh. Just like you're not a Lazarite," Tim shoots back. "Honestly, I don't know how no one's made the connection between Red Hood and Lazar before—I'm not an idiot, Jay. I keep my head down, but even _I've_ heard of the Red Hood. Everyone knows he's got a chip on his shoulder about how he was double-crossed and it got him killed." 

"I'm not a Lazarite. Never even been on Lazar," he grits out, glaring at Tim. "My bio-mom got dunked in a pool while she was pregnant and spent most of that pregnancy on Lazar, but she got away before she had me," Jason clarifies, because it's important to him that people understand he's not a Lazarite, not even peripherally.

"Oh, well." Tim at least has the decency to look chagrined at his verbal faux pas. "Sorry I brought it up back there, then. You went through the trouble to wash out the dye and with the kind of reputation Red Hood has, I figured— I mean, I didn't think—" He grimaces, hunching up his shoulders. "Sorry."

"Who says I'm the real Red Hood? You're not the only one who can act," Jason counters, more than willing to steer the conversation away from Lazar and all the emotional baggage he associates with it. The Red Hood isn't something he is particularly proud of, but there are certainly worse skeletons in his closet that could come tumbling out.

Tim shifts uncomfortably before finally pushing off from the console and leaning over to unzip the boots he's wearing. Jason keeps his attention focused on the monitors and definitely does not glance at the graceful curve of that slender body as it's reflected in the screens. "Do you think you're the same person you were before you died?" Tim asks suddenly.

It's a bit of a non-sequitur and distressingly close to topics Jason would rather never speak on, but he's willing to play along for now, at least. "Yes and no. My moms and my friends say I am, that I have the same hopes and dreams, the same memories."

"And what do you say?" Tim wants to know. He's still bent over, face hidden in the shadowed tangle of his hair, and his voice is neutral enough in tone that Jason can't get a read on him.

"That I'm mostly the same, except I have a temper now that I don't really remember having before. I spent a lot of the time I was recovering on Themyscira learning how to handle it." He's really only ever talked about this with Donna and Epione before. Everyone else just wants to focus on the fact that he came back, that he's here now. His family denies he's any different than he ever was, and Jason never really made all that many friends, before. "I didn't die a violent death—space asphyxiation, technically—but there was violence leading up to it, and I definitely have some PTSD about the whole thing."

"What about." Tim stops, straightens. Licks his lips, ruining Caroline's perfectly made-up face. "Do you think it's the same for other Lazarites? That they're basically the same people when they come back, except now they've been through a bad trauma?"

"It depends on the person and how Lazarus Syndrome affected their cells," Jason says, allowing Tim's use of the catch-all term for now, even though it always rubs him the wrong way to be included with House al Ghul's subjects and sycophants.

"What do you mean?" Tim's whole body sways forward ever so slightly, almost as if he's reluctant to give in to his own curiosity on the topic.

"Well, there are the native-born Lazarites, who are basically like me," Jason explains. "They've been breathing, eating, living with lazar chemicals all their lives. They die and, as long as their brain's still mostly intact, they go into a death-coma until the trauma's healed itself and they come back. Results may vary when it comes to mental state, but they're mostly the same people, only now they've got really cool hair."

Tim laughs, and some of the tension bleeds out of him. "It _is_ pretty cool. Too bad you dye it, but I guess it makes sense, if for no other reason than it stops people from pestering you about things you don't want to talk about." He gives a rueful smile, obviously feeling guilty of his own questioning, but unwilling to leave off now that he's gotten Jason talking.

"More politic when running messages for monarchs," Jason agrees, though that's really not why he does it. He doesn't doubt his family would smooth it over with the Council if Jason wanted to come out as having L.S. But hopefully that won't be for a good long while yet, because when he does, someone is bound to start poking into his background, will discover Sheila and that whole mess, and he really isn't ready to deal with all of that.

"So you've got the streak… What about people whose whole head goes white?" Tim asks, staring intently at the viewscreen and the black of space in front of them, his fingers worrying at the stretched-out cuffs of his sweater.

"That happens when L.S. is induced artificially—usually it's a case of non-natives getting dunked in a lazar pool. It depends on how badly injured, how close to death they are when they're dipped, but the end result generally isn't good." Jason doesn't remember his bio-mom at all, but from what he was told, the girl was pretty far gone by the time Sheila met her, barely hanging onto the threads of sanity.

Stepping out of the boots, Tim reaches down, catches them up, and when he asks, "And if they're already dead when they go in? Have been for a while?" He keeps his body turned away so Jason can't see Tim's face, but there's some odd quality to his voice. Something queer, almost aching. "Are they still the same people then?"

"Dunno," Jason admits. "Never met one. There are people who try to claim that L.S. is meant to be the next step in human evolution, a way to conquer death." He sighs, shakes his head. "There's a lot of weird shit that comes out of the Thousand—nightstalkers, sporlings, fire-breathers, crocs, bat-mutes—marvels and monsters and miracles. A panacea sounds like a great thing, but if the cost of using it is your soul? That's not a price worth paying."

"Yeah," Tim says as he straightens, his body still turned away as he exits the cockpit. "Nothing's worth that."

 

* * *

 

_Redwing_ is back on normal shipping routes and Tim has disappeared to presumably remove the rest of his costume before Jason finally feels he has enough privacy to look into just what kind of person the Red Hood's apparently married, since Tim effectively sidetracked the conversation when Jason tried to interrogate him earlier.

It's not too difficult to track down Caroline Hill since hers is a featured channel on one of the more popular vid sites, and he queues up the most recently posted vid to play on a side monitor while he goes searching for a profile. It's not long before he's left off looking, though, completely drawn in by the vid.

Caroline on the screen doesn't quite look like Tim had earlier. Her hair is a little longer, a little darker, more carefully styled. There are probably some filters being applied, small programs that serve to automatically round out more angular facial features, widening the gap between Tim and Caroline beyond the capabilities of basic cosmetics. It's definitely the same black sweater, the same blue eyes, the same Thousand twang.

The content matter is what really throws him, not being anything close to what he thought it would be. Not that he had any particular expectations there—Jason himself favors books over vids, and from what he gathered from his small handful of friends back in school, most amature netvid channels consist of things like crafting or make-up tutorials. Caroline's vids include tutorials as well, but not the sort one would expect from a teen boy pretending to be someone, something he's not.

Caroline Hill exclusively makes vids explaining the ins and outs of the laws and legislature of various different principalities in the Thousand Kingdoms, with the occasional foray into law on actual, civilized planets. There's a vid explaining the hows and whys behind Kal-El of Kandor's abdication, another detailing why he was able to be declared Lord Regent of Metropolis despite being neither human nor a member of the Metropolis Council, while at the same time there's one that just gives the basics regarding feline registration laws on the top-ten most-populous asteroids found in the Thousand.

None of it seems like the kind of stuff that would appeal to the scum of the Desert Rose, but then he takes the time to read the comments and sees that Caroline doesn't just make vids, she also gives legal advice. Which wouldn't mean much except it's clear that whoever's answering the questions knows what they're talking about. And while there's no doubt in Jason's mind that many of those Tim's helped as Caroline over the years have been criminals looking for loopholes, more often than not it's average citizens, down on their luck and looking for help against a broken system.

It's not what he expected of someone so desperate to get away from whatever is after him that he was willing to climb into the first ship he came across, eating raw NutriPac sludge and hiding in a hidey-hole smaller than most spacecrates. At the same time, it's everything Jason expects of a too-smart man like Tim.

"You should see the three-parter I did on Kaneish inheritance law," Tim says, startling Jason into banging his knee on the console. "Like, did you know King Bruce had equal claim to the Red Throne as he did the Black, because of his mother being a Red princess and how he was born before King Jacob had any children? The Dual Thrones could have finally been united if King Thomas hadn't been assassinated, leaving the Black Throne empty."

"Eh, it's not the first time the Dual Thrones have intermarried, and it's not like the Kaneish Council would ever allow them to be joined, " Jason says, because he's had to hear this argument one too many times from Damian, whose mother strove hard to indoctrinate him with the idea that only biological children have legitimacy before dumping him on Bruce. "Anyway, Kaneish inheritance law is only confusing to people who don't grow up in the Kane System," he adds, trying to redirect a conversation that is veering a little too close to things he'd rather not think about. "I'm surprised you bothered. Seems like most of your audience is based in the Thousand."

"I get viewers from all over, and people know I specialize in Kaneish law, so I get a lot of comments wanting to know why it is Prince Richard's claim to the Black Throne takes precedence over Prince Damian's," Tim says.

"I don't know why anyone would need that explained. Primogeniture is a pretty standard practice in a lot of places."

"I think they're mostly confused by the fact that biological children don't automatically hop to the top of the list," Tim says with a shrug.

Jason snorts, shaking his head. "That makes no sense. Dick was adopted before Damian was even a twinkle in his mother's eye. Plus, anyone who would rather see Damian rule over Dick clearly is using a broken standard to measure potential rulers by." He loves Damian, really he does, but the kid spent way too much time with his mom's family during his formative years. At this point, the entire Kaneish royal family is hoping the Academy will knock some sense into him.

"You already watched it! No fair, that's one of my favorites," Tim grumbles, flopping down in the copilot's seat.

"Haven't even found it, yet. Royal courier, remember? I actually have to know this kind of stuff for my job," Jason says, which isn't really true at all, when it comes down to it.

"Huh, that's true. I suppose you've actually met some of the royals?" Tim asks, eying him curiously.

"I may have met a monarch or two in my time," Jason allows. "Mostly it's kids being ferried too and from the Academy, like bringing Prince Damian back after the hullabaloo with—with the birth of the new princess," he says, barely catching himself in time. Tim may be alright with Jason being a R.C., may be willing to bail Jason out of a dicey situation, but that doesn't mean Tim can be trusted with League secrets, no matter how comfortable Jason feels around him.

Tim leans forward, eyes bright in the dim lighting of the cockpit. "Have you ever met Kal-El of Kandor?"

"The former king? I… yes," Jason admits cautiously, a little thrown by Tim's apparent eagerness. Most Kaneish have no interest in kryptonians, have little interest in non-humans in general. Not something Jason is particularly proud of when it comes to his home system, but a flaw he's certainly aware of. "Why?"

"What's he like? The stories all make him out to be this great hero, swooping in to save Metropolis from Darkseid and King Lex at the last minute, but I've heard he's pretty cold and distant in his personal life," Tim says, glancing down and running his fingers along the hem of his sweater. "It's hard to reconcile one person having such seemingly opposing character traits."

Jason leans back, more than a little confused by what Tim's saying. "I've never heard anyone describe him as cold and distant," Jason admits. "Kal-El has to be one of the most giving, kind, and downright selfless people I've ever had the pleasure to meet. I guess it was selfish of him to abdicate just because his wife just couldn't handle being queen-consort, but he also waited until his cousin was nearly of age before doing it. And when Metropolis needed someone to step up and run the kingdom after they kicked the king off the throne, Kal-El gave up his personal happiness to act as Lord Regent. I _think_ his wife might be speaking to him now, but they still aren't living together and it's been over a year."

Tim snorts. "Oh, such hardship. Deciding between ruling a highly advanced and prosperous planet or a planet whose population is indebted to you after you saved them from a life of brutal slavery. I don't know, Jay, seems to me it's all a matter of perspective."

"Not everyone wants to rule," Jason says quietly, hands moving across keys, closing vids and windows until just the inky darkness of space remains on the monitors. "Just because someone's born to it, raised to it, trained to do it doesn't mean they want to or even that they should."

"Well, _obviously_ ," Tim says, pushing his foot against the edge of the console and setting his seat spinning. "The best leaders are the ones who don't want to but do it anyway, because somebody has to and whether they like it or not, they're still the best ones for the job. I learned that when I was _ten_."

 

* * *

 

Jason putters around for another thirty, forty minutes, running systems checks and correcting the heading, tasks so boring that Tim voluntarily wanders off to start dinner. All the busy-work in the galaxy can only last so long, though, and eventually it reaches a point where Jason can't put off hailing Babs any longer, no matter how much he's loathe to be the bearer of bad news.

"Didn't come up with anything aside from a bunch of old lost princess rumors when I tried asking around about your missing person. Sorry," Jason says, trying not to feel guilty. With the complete lack of information to be had on the operative in question, it was a long shot in the first place. Jason couldn't be expected to do much better than he did.

_"Turned out to be a moot point anyway. RedX contacted me while you were playing dress-up; turns out they got mixed up in something nasty and cut communications to be on the safe side,"_ Babs says, which just figures. Jason sticks out his neck, risks a very important cargo, breaks out the Red Hood for the first time in ages, and all for nothing.

"Please tell me you don't need me to rescue them, now. I can justify a two-day detour, but that's it. Any more and I'm going to have Dick and the others breathing down my neck, demanding I account for every second of every day. They're already pissed the nature of the cargo means I can't break out the warp drive."

_"No, RedX seems to be safe for now. Thanks again for checking, Jason. I know you didn't have to, and with that cargo, Coryana had to be just about the last place you wanted to stop."_

"No worries," Jason says, because staying on Babs's good side will always be worth risking a high-value cargo in his mind. "Got to catch up on things, put the Red Hood out there some, gather some interesting rumors. Did you know people are saying the R.C. are spies for the League?"

_"What?!"_ Babs jerks back, surprised, and Jason doesn't wonder. Everyone's supposed to think of the Royal Courier Corps as hopped-up mail carriers, schmucks flying around in top-of-the-line ships to carry the monarchs' mail because the royals are too snooty and special to just send it through the usual routes.

"Yeah," Jason says. "Thought you'd enjoy that one."

_"Sorry, I'd love to stick around and chat, but if there are rumors about the R.C. going around…"_

"No, I get it," Jason says, waving her off. "Go, do your thing."

_"Bye, Jason. Thanks again for this,"_ she says, cutting the connection before Jason can even reply.

"No problem," Jason mutters to himself, switching the viewscreen back to full and staring out at the distant stars. Tries not to wonder about where Tim (or, more likely, 'Caroline') heard that particular rumor. Tries not to dwell on what kind of business Tim had on Coryana, before showing up at the Desert Rose to pull the Red Hood out of hot water. Tries to forget that Tim somehow not only knew where to find Jason, but also realized Jason was the Red Hood. Jason tries not to think about any of it, but the reality is that willful ignorance will only take him so far, and it's only a matter of time before he's going to have to face up to some cold, hard facts about his unlikely crewmember.

But not now, and, in the meantime, the stars are awfully pretty.

 

* * *

 

"We'll reach Kandor in a few days time. I can point you in the direction of some decent-paying jobs when we get there, once I've taken care of my business, or I can drop you off on Metropolis on my way back," Jason says over breakfast one morning. Tim may not have been his choice of traveling companion, but the guy's pulled his own weight and probably saved Jason from a less-than-pleasant shoot-out back on Coryana. Jason owes him this much.

"About that," Tim says, staring intently down at his mush as he stirs it. "I was thinking. This really is at least a two-person ship, and I know how she works now, mostly. Couldn't I—"

"No," Jason says shortly, cutting him off before Tim can complete the thought.

Tim startles, glancing up with big blue eyes before quickly looking down again. Dammit, Jason thought he'd broken Tim of his skittishness. "I just. I thought you didn't mind my being here?"

"I don't, but my bosses would if they knew," Jason says. "I carry sensitive messages and cargo a lot of the time, stuff the crowns can't trust over electronic communication or through normal shipping routes. There's a reason Royal Courier ships are always unmarked, don't favor any specific make or model of ship. There are a lot of people who'd like nothing more than to intercept a R.C. and use their cargo to hurt a hell of a lot of people. I can't be traveling with an unvetted crewmember of unknown provenance."

"But, I'm." Tim stops, frowns. Tries again. "You're the Red Hood."

"So?"

"Red Hood's a criminal. There are wanted sheets and everything."

"Eh." Jason wiggles his hand. "It's complicated. Sometimes I need to pass through dangerous sectors to deliver something. Helps to have a nasty reputation."

"Is that something a lot of R.C.s do?" Tim asks, and Jason can practically see the wheels turning in that too-quick mind. Jason doesn't doubt that Tim's trying to determine just how many of the quadrant's 'Most Wanted' are actually R.C.s in disguise.

"Can't confirm that."

Tim narrows his eyes, but doesn't press. He eats a couple more mouthfuls of mush, clearly thinking. "What if I became a R.C.?"

"It's a pretty rigorous process," Jason tells him, though, from what Jason's seen over the last six weeks, if anyone could start on the path to becoming a R.C. this late in life, it's Tim.

"How'd you do it?"

"Got recruited right out of school," Jason says, and it's not a lie, exactly. Technically. "They like Academy graduates. Means pretty much everything about them's known and they've already shown they can handle dealing with royals on the regular after spending a decade with 'em."

Tim tilts his head to the side, frowning. " _You're_ an Academy graduate?"

"More or less," Jason admits. "I had to finish up via correspondence courses, since dying kind of put a kink in my ten-year plan. Missed over six months of classes between one thing and another." At least he'd had some of the best minds in the quadrant around to help him catch up while he went through physical therapy to get his atrophied muscles working again. Though Donna is probably never going to let Jason forget about the bedpan incident.

"Just can't see how you got admitted to a place geared towards training future leaders in the first place," Tim says, and Jason can't help it, he relaxes in relief. _There's_ the sassy twerp he's grown used to. "Who'd give _you_ a scholarship?"

"I'll have you know I was top of my class before my untimely demise," Jason stiffly informs him.

"And yet you became a glorified mailman after."

"Apparently there's not much call for Literature majors in the fast-paced world of galactic politics," Jason confides. "Who knew?"

 

* * *

 

_"In other news, apparently Babs got some new intel from one of her people. You're now to go straight to Metropolis and land at the palace spaceport."_

"What? No fucking way, I'm not dealing with all the red tape involved with landing at a palace," Jason says.

_"What red tape? Part of the reason you were the one chosen for this was that your clearance is so high and you've been vetted and approved by the intelligence agencies of all the major monarchies. You know that, Jason."_

"Last time I landed at a palace port they torched my entire aeroponics bay because some idiot customs official misidentified a cucumber plant as Zebraxian death vine," Jason reminds Dick.

_"And the Tamaranians were very sorry about that. You got a very official apology and a marriage offer."_

"Only because they were afraid of an interstellar incident." Kori had thought the marriage proposal was hilarious and told Jason she'd gut him if he accepted it.

_"Exactly. Stop complaining, it's not like you're carrying anything even close to contraband for the Lord Regent's people to torch."_

Which is, of course, the problem. "Well."

_"You're not carrying any kryptonite, are you?"_

"What? No, of course not! What is it with people accusing me of being a black-market kryptonite dealer? You're the second one this month."

"Maybe you just don't have a trustworthy face," Tim says as he steps into the room and, heaven help him, Jason freezes up.

_"Jason."_ Dick's voice is low and dangerous, full of dire threats of death and destruction. _"Who the hell is that?"_

"Hey, funny thing, did you know this is actually a two-person ship?" Jason says, his mouth running ahead of him as his brain still remains frozen in panic.

_"Jason, he can't be on the ship. Do you not remember how sensitive this whole thing is?"_

"I'd trust Tim with my life. He's not a risk," Jason insists, finally finding his wits. He knows it's useless to protest, but he has to try.

_"That's the thing, though, isn't it?"_ Dick snaps. _"It's not just your life on the line here. This isn't a cucumber plant, Jason. You were explicitly told no passengers."_

"Yeah, and then I got stuck ferrying your little brother back to school when that was supposed to be Luke's job," Jason shoots back.

_"That's different, and you know it."_

"I don't see why—of the two, Tim's the one who's never threatened to kill me in my sleep."

_"Damian is family!"_

Jason blinks, staring at him. "Shit, you're right. Thanks, Dick, good talk, see you next time I'm on Gotham," he says quickly, thumbing the comm to blackout mode and cutting off any further protests on Dick's part.

"Sorry," Tim says, pulling into his sweater like an overgrown turtle. "I got you in trouble."

"Maybe, maybe not." Jason spins in the pilot's seat, starts rummaging through one of storage lockers under the console. "You wanted a way to stay on this ship. The question now is—what are you willing to do to make that possible?"

 

* * *

 

Jason's still trying to convince Tim to part with his ill-fitting sweater when _Redwing_ pulls in beside the Lord Regent's private cruiser on Metropolis. "What are people going to think, me letting you wander around, looking like a slob?"

"First of all, I resent that statement since it implies you have some sort of right to control what I choose to wear, which is bullshit archaic garbage and definitely _not_ a part of the contract or else you can be sure I would never've signed it," Tim says, crossing his arms and glaring fiercely at Jason. "Secondly, I've _seen_ how you dress. I don't look any worse."

"Aah, you've seen how I've dressed in the middle of nowhere with nary a planet for lightyears around," Jason corrects him, rising from his seat and striding over to the nearby coat locker. A quick tug at Jason's trousers activates the smart fibers, causing the wrinkles to vanish, and his uniform jacket hasn't suffered any from being stuffed away in a locker since leaving Gotham. He fastens the jacket up over his undershirt, fixes his badge of office to his breast, and runs a hand through newly-dyed locks, finger-combing it into some semblance of order. "Dashing, right?" he asks Tim, grinning.

Tim rolls his eyes. "Oh, you're something alright," he says, though he falls in step behind Jason out the cockpit and down to the hatch.

Jason makes a quick detour to the biolocked hold, activating the mag-cart with the cargo and pulling it over to wait beside Tim, just inside the hatch. "I have to go meet the representative, you should probably wait here until I call you. _Don't_ touch the package; it has all kinds of weird-ass security and could probably shock you into a coma."

Tim eyes the package warily, then takes a cautious step away, putting more distance between him and it. "You're sure this'll work. They'll accept the contract and not incinerate me?"

"It's a mostly valid contract, and both Roy and Kori will back it up as legit if questioned. As long as you aren't an assassin in disguise, you'll be fine. In general, people like to avoid interstellar incidents as much as possible," Jason reassures him, then pops the hatch and steps out before Tim can question why offending a trumped-up mailman might cause any kind of hullabaloo.

 

* * *

 

"Jason," Kal says warmly, pulling him into a hug as soon as Jason steps off the _Redwing_. "How have you been? Everything okay?"

"If that's a subtle way of checking that I still haven't succumbed to the desire to blow to pieces everything that pisses me off and lop off some heads while I'm at it, then yeah," Jason says, leaning into Kal's warm solidness, "I'm okay."

"Barbara mentioned something about a protocol violation?" Kal asks as he releases Jason. Of _course_ Dick had to tell Babs who had to tell Kal. Not that Jason can blame her really, considering that keeping track of their safety is literally in her job description. But still. Jason would have liked to put this off just a little longer.

Sighing, Jason turns back towards the ship and hollers, "Alright, the jig is up. May as well come out."

Tim hesitantly pokes his head out before carefully stepping out onto the platform. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares around himself, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the palace spaceport. Gulping, Tim shuffles over to them, half-hiding behind Jason.

"Kal, I'd like you to meet Tim. My husband." Jason says the last bit in a firm voice, daring Kal to dispute the statement. "Tim, my Uncle Kal."

"Um. Hello?" Tim says in a small voice, pressing into Jason's back. "The Lord Regent of Metropolis is your _uncle_?"

Well. Score one for Tim's big brain—hardly anyone ever recognizes Kal outside his robes of state. "Eh. Honorary uncle. Technically."

"Jay. What the fuck," Tim says flatly.

"I told you I deliver to monarchs," Jason reminds him, though Kal technically isn't one anymore.

"Speaking of deliveries, I'll take the package now," Kal says. "Much as I'd love to get to know the newest addition to your family, I hope you understand if I want to get this over with as soon as possible."

"Yeah. It's right over here." Jason steps away from Tim and reaches into _Redwing_ , grabbing the mag-cart's handle and pulling it out onto the platform, Tim scrambling to get out of its path. "Sealed with a combo biolock; needs both you and me or you and B to open it." Jason demonstrates by pressing his hand to the lock panel and Kal mirrors him on the other side. There's a soft hissing sound and the lock releases, the side of the crate slowly sliding away to reveal its precious cargo, still frozen in cryo-stasis.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason sees Tim reach up to clutch at the front of his sweater, just over his heart. "That's Lex Luthor. Your cargo is _Lex Luthor_?!"

Everything that follows happens so fast that Jason only has a moment to register the undertone of utter betrayal in Tim's voice and reach for him. Jason manages to hold Tim back, but he can't do anything to stop the three meter-long plume of fire that issues from Tim's mouth, and it's only Kal's kryptonian speed that allows him to dash forward in time to shield Luthor from the flame.

"What the fuck, Tim!" Jason gasps, fighting against Tim's struggles to yank him back further and, hopefully, out of range of Luthor. "You promised you _weren't_ an assassin!"

"You didn't say you were carrying _Luthor_ ," Tim hisses, small flames dripping from his lips as he talks. "The bastard hijacked Kon's brain and got him expelled from the Academy even though none of what happened was even close to being Kon's fault!"

Jason blinks, taken aback. Of course he heard about Kon-El's expulsion from the Academy last year following Kon's attack on some of his fellow students—Bizarro of all people had mentioned it during Jason's last visit to the Kandorian Institute of Genetics. Jason just can't understand how Tim knows about it— _cares_ about it—when the Academy and House El hushed it up straight away. And Jason _definitely_ didn't hear anything about any brain-jacking being involved.

"That's why Lex is here," Kal says, calmly inspecting the singed spot in the middle of his shirt. "To answer for his crimes and hopefully aid our scientists in correcting any other little surprises he may have left in the clone-hybrids he created."

Tim growls at Luthor, spitting at the cryocase before relaxing back into Jason's grip. The spittle leaves a small, singed crater in the side of the case. "Fine. I guess you can have him."

"Thanks for the permission," Kal says dryly, resealing the crate. "Unfortunately, I still have to ask that Jason formally take you into crown custody. You _did_ just breathe fire at the Lord Regent of Metropolis."

Fuck. And Jason had been hoping to avoid an interstellar incident. Dick is definitely going to tear him a new one for this. Sighing, Jason tugs Tim's hands behind his back and secures them with a pair of magcuffs while Kal murmurs something into the comm on his lapel.

"Sorry about this," Jason mutters, because he is. He can't fathom why Tim cares about what happens to the crown prince of Metropolis or even how Tim's privy to the knowledge of what happened at the Academy last year, but it's become very clear that Tim isn't all Jason thought he was, even taking Caroline into account. "Try to cooperate. I'll talk to Kal, see what I can do."

"Save your breath," Tim snaps. "I don't need your help, _highness_."

Jason jerks back, surprised. "What—"

"That _is_ the correct form of address, isn't it? You _are_ Jason Kane, aren't you?"

"Yes," Jason admits, cringing slightly the way he always does when he hears that name these days. "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Not exactly something I like to bandy about."

"No," Tim says, snorting. "I expect not." He turns away, snubbing Jason as the palace guard Kal summoned takes hold of his elbow and leads him away.

 

* * *

 

"Jimmy will take good care of him," Kal reassures Jason once they're alone again, walking through the halls of the palace, Kal towing the mag-cart behind them. "And, if it's any consolation, detaining him is mostly protocol. Just about anyone on this planet would likely try to do the same given half a chance."

"Don't I know it," Jason mutters. "Where are we going?"

"You Kaneish royals aren't the only ones who can solve a mystery," Kal says, his lips curving in a faint smile.

"Just because you and Bruce had some freaky-ass rivalry going on back in school doesn't mean you need to get all smug with the rest of us," Jason grumbles. "I still don't understand why you and Kare decided to have the package delivered here. If anyone finds out what it is, Tim's little fireworks display will be nothing compared to what the Metropolitans are likely to do."

"It actually relates to what Tim was saying, about Kon not being responsible for what happened at the Academy. One of Babs's people just came to her with intel to that effect, and with Kon's ascension date fast-approaching, I'm obligated to look into it as soon as possible. We don't want a repeat of Lex."

Which is fair enough. Succession law is something Jason has become much too knowledgeable in since his untimely demise and, as complicated as Jason's situation is, he's pretty sure Metropolis has it worse—forced to depose a tyrant with only his half-human science experiment of a 'son' available as a replacement. Luthor was _very_ thorough in his assassinations of any relatives that might threaten his rule. Everyone wondered that Luthor was willing to acknowledge and legitimize Kon considering the king's paranoia, but if there's actual credence to what Tim said, maybe it's not so surprising after all. It's hard to feel threatened by someone whose actions you can control remotely.

"Kon-El's still on track to be crowned? Even after what he did to Donna's niece and that Thousand princeling?" Kal and the Academy have worked hard to keep the whole affair under wraps, but Jason's understanding is that if Donna's niece weren't half-Themysciran and as a result a lot sturdier than your average human, she'd be dead. He hasn't even heard if the princeling made it out alive, but princes are a dime a dozen in the Thousand, so maybe it doesn't matter. "At the very least, Metropolis could end up with another murderer in charge, even if Luthor isn't pulling the kid's strings."

"Like I said, we fully intend to find out everything we can about the legitimacy of that claim," Kal starts to say, when a dull pounding interrupts him, shaking the palace.

Jason jerks to attention, glancing around wildly. "What the blazes? Is the palace under attack?!"

"No," Kal snaps, increasing his pace to the point where Jason is only just barely able to keep up. "But it would seem _someone's_ decided we're taking too long."

Kal rounds a corner and skids to a halt in front of a reinforced metal door that vibrates with a hollow booming sound each time it's struck by whatever's on the other side. "You better stay back for now," Kal says, pressing his hand to the lockpad beside the door. "Sounds like he's in a mood."

The door slides into the wall and Kal deftly catches the boy who nearly topples over after failing to find the door he was ramming himself against. " _Enough_ , Kon. I'm here now, no need to alert the entire city to your presence. What has you all worked up?"

Kon-El stares at Kal, his eyes wide and frightened. "I need to get to the spaceport. It's Tim—Kal, I’m scared he's done something really stupid."

 

* * *

 

"Wait, I want to make sure I have this right," Jason says. "Tim is an Academy student, your best friend, and you think he snuck onto a ship to come to Metropolis and clear your name?" They're all three in Kon's room—Jason, Kal, and Kon—where Kal ushered them so they could have a conversation without the whole palace listening in.

"Pretty much, yeah. His letter appeared on my pad a little while ago, probably when your R.C. ship landed," Kon says easily enough. He'd calmed down significantly once Kal had assured him that Tim was safe and sound and _not_ about to be executed for illegally entering the palace, though Kon still looks a little confused by Jason's inclusion in their conference.

Fine, he can be confused. Jason's too busy being righteously indignant for proper introductions just now. "And _you_ knew exactly who Tim was and that he wasn't any kind of threat, but you let me worry I'd brought in some kind of super-assassin for the Thousand Houses and compromised the entire R.C. Corps' network?" Jason demands of Kal. It's him who Jason's really mad at.

"In my defense, I've never met Tim before," Kal says, not looking the least bit sorry for nearly triggering a panic attack in Jason. "But I figured—little guy named Tim, defensive of Kon, breathes fire…" Kal shrugs. "And, of course, I've seen pictures."

"Tim _flamed_?! What the hell, Kal, you said he's safe! Tim _never_ flames, he doesn't like how it makes everyone afraid of him," Kon says, his voice gradually rising in pitch as he starts to work himself up all over again.

"He was defending your virtue," Kal says calmly.

"Shit," Jason says as he suddenly realizes something. "Kal, did you tell the guard about the fire before you sent him off with Tim?"

Kal blinks, then frowns. "Now that you mention it, I'm not sure that I did."

 

* * *

 

Tim is, amazingly enough, waiting patiently in Kal's office when Jason bursts through the door. Kal still has a crate full of treacherous ex-king to take care of and was detained seeing to that, but if he's honest with himself, Jason hasn't felt comfortable letting Tim out of his sight ever since he coaxed him out of the smuggler's cubby on _Redwing_. Sure, back at the start it was because Tim came off as one of those delicate types who'd trip and kill himself accidentally while currently it's because Tim is a fire-breathing puzzle wrapped in an enigma, but the end result is the same.

"Hey," Jason says, since he somehow managed to forget everything he wanted to say as soon as he saw Tim curled up in one of Kal's big, comfy armchairs, hands still awkwardly bound behind his back.

"Hey yourself," Tim shoots back, because apparently it takes more than a charge of treason to get him to tone down his snark. Tim cranes his head slightly, glancing beyond Jason at the door that's silently sliding shut before quickly darting down again.

"Kal's taking care of the package. He'll be along shortly to decide what to do with you," Jason explains.

Tim nods. "Sorry I keep getting you in trouble." He keeps his eyes on his lap when he says it, and Jason's close enough that he can't see what kind of expression is on Tim's face, there's so much hair in the way. "I wasn't trying to kill Luthor—he needs to be alive to testify about what he made Kon do—it's just that I got so _angry_ when I saw him that I, y'know. Flamed."

"Never seen a fire-breather before," Jason admits. "Heard the stories coming out of the Thousand same as everyone else, but never actually met someone who could do it." Jason leans back against Kal's desk, studying Tim. "So you've been looking into Kon-El's little mishap and decided—what? That you had to bring the evidence to Metropolis yourself?"

"Ah," Tim says, squirming slightly in his seat. "You've been talking to Kon."

"I don't know if you noticed the building trying to shake itself down earlier, but your friend got a little distressed when he got your letter and thought Kal might've incinerated you as contraband. Damn near broke the door down when he felt Kal wasn't coming fast enough," Jason tells Tim, his gut twisting weirdly when Tim flinches at the news.

"Kon feels guilty about hurting me back at the Academy. He shouldn't," Tim whispers, curling in on himself further. "It's my fault he went off like that."

"Wait, I thought you said Luthor—"

"Oh, he did, he is, he put in the original programming back when Kon was still in a tube, growing. I just—we were learning about hypnotic states in my psychology course and Kon bet me I couldn't induce one in him because he's only partly human only I did but it went wrong and Cassie nearly died and—"

"Jeez, Tim." No wonder Tim's been working his butt off, trying to figure out what went wrong, what set Kon-El off. "That's not on you. No one expects to accidentally uncover berserker programming in their friends and everyone tries to hypnotize their classmates when they take Psych 104. Cass and I definitely tried it on each other when we did." She made Jason quack like a duck every time he saw Koriand'r in the halls for a week and he'd nearly disowned her.

"Still, I shouldn't have been poking around in his head in the first place," Tim says glumly.

"Ah, but then we might not have found out about Lex's little booby-trap until it was much too late," Kal says, somehow managing to noiselessly slide into the room despite his bulk. "So, in light of your service to the crown, I think we can dispense with the restraints." He reaches behind Tim and gently crushes the locking mechanism, pulling the cuffs free.

Jason rolls his eyes, because that's typical Kal, always managing to be your best friend while reminding you he can easily squish your skull with his bare hands. "You're replacing my cuffs. I _do_ have the key, I could have unlocked them," Jason grumbles.

Tim is massaging his wrists, looking unperturbed by Kal's show of strength. He's friends with Kon-El and a Themysciran, though, so he's probably used to stuff like that. "Thanks. Sorry about earlier. I wouldn't have killed Luthor, honest."

"Yes, I know. Given him a light sunburn to wake up to, maybe, but that's all." Kal settles down behind his desk, steepling his hands in front of him. "Tim. Why are you here?"

"Oh," Tim says, startling slightly before fumbling at the cuff of his sweater, tugging one of the strands out of the weave and pulling at it until it's quite long. "Everything I've gathered on Luthor's research into mental programming," Tim says, offering the cord to Kal.

Kal raises an eyebrow at the cord, but gamely hooks it into his pad. When he does, Tim's sweater immediately lights up, the crest of House El glowing softly against his chest. "What the hell," Jason demands, jerking back slightly in surprise.

"Kandorian smart fabric," Kal says dismissively, not glancing up from the screen of his pad. "Kon mentioned he was missing a few shirts."

"It looks no different from regular cloth when there's no attached power source and it's lost its charge," Tim explains. "I figured it was the safest way to transport information I didn't want just anyone getting their hands on. It wasn't hard to modify the data fibers to hold a lot more than just a design."

"That's rather ingenious," Kal admits. "I'll have to suggest it to Or—ah, a friend in the League next time we speak."

"Oh, don't edit yourself on Tim's account," Jason drawls, giving Tim a calculated look as several suspicions slot into place at once. "He knows all about Oracle."

"Jason, I really don't think—"

"Tim is RedX—Oracle's mole in the Thousand Houses," Jason explains before the three of them waste too much time worrying over who can be trusted with what information. "And, I suspect, the same one who provided the intel on Luthor's brainwashing Kon-El in the first place."

Tim's head whips around. "How—?"

Jason shrugs. "As soon as I knew you snuck on at the Academy and not on Gotham, it was easy to figure out that RedX's radio silence corresponded with the time between when _Redwing_ left the Academy and docked at Coryana." Since Kon-El's startling revelation of Tim being an Academy student, Jason's been thinking about this, and Tim being RedX explains more than it doesn't, right down to Tim's claim of a heart-stopping 'rumor' that members of the Royal Courier Corps double as spies for the League. Likely not a rumor at all, just Tim's own suspicions born from his interactions with Oracle.

"We never would have managed to track Lex's movements to the point of being able to capture him without RedX's help. That doesn't even touch on the invaluable intelligence on Ra's al Ghul and his allies that RedX has been providing for nearly a year now," Kal says, sounding more than a little awed as he reaches across the table to grasp Tim's hand and forearm in a Kandorian gesture of fellowship and deep respect. "The League is deeply indebted to you. _I_ am deeply indebted to you, as are my sons and all of Metropolis."

"O-oh. I just. I wanted to help Kon." Tim's entire face turns bright red as he ducks his head and shyly tugs his arm back. Kal's genuine earnestness can be more than a little overwhelming at times, and Jason automatically moves to stand beside Tim, resting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're a remarkable young man, unearthing all that you have," Kal tells Tim. "An astounding feat, considering that Kon's told me in the past that you've only made one brief trip away from Academy once since arriving there."

"Well," Tim says, smiling to himself as he looks down at his sweater, tracing the glowing design with his fingertip. "Caroline gets told a lot of things by the people who come to her for help. Some of those people are lackeys or even members of the Thousands Houses."

"Wait, do you mean Caroline Hill?" Kal asks.

"Seriously? How does even _Kal_ know about Caroline?" Jason demands.

"Lois enjoys her vids, and they served as a good introduction to law and politics for Jon before he was old enough to attend the Academy," Kal says. "They're playing half the time when I stop by to visit." He frowns at Tim, the picture of confusion. "What does Caroline Hill have to do with this? Do you know her?"

Jason makes a frustrated noise. "This is ridiculous."

"I _told_ you she's popular. Maybe if you took your head out of a book sometimes you wouldn't be out of the loop," Tim snipes at Jason before glancing at Kal. With a sigh, Tim pulls his shaggy hair back from his face and arranges the folds of his sweater to give the illusion of cleavage.

"Astounding," Kal marvels. "The resemblance is uncanny. She's a relative of yours, I take it?"

Jason throws his hands up in the air in disgust. They'll let just anyone run a kingdom these days.

 

* * *

 

"You're both more than welcome to stay longer," Kal tells Jason the next day as they wait for Tim to finish his goodbyes to Kon. "I meant it when I said we're indebted to Tim for all he's done. The same holds true for you, for bringing the package here."

When he won the right to transport Luthor and filed his mission prospectus back on Gotham, Jason had originally planned to stay several days after delivering his cargo. Of course, that was back when he was headed for Kandor, and he'd been looking forward to visiting Bizarro, to say nothing of hounding the scientists in charge of his friend's treatment for more information. So much has changed since Jason left Gotham, though, and not just his final destination.

"Tim needs to get back to the Academy asap. I'm hoping if we make good enough time, Administration won't even realize he took an unscheduled trip off-station." Apparently Tim's claimed to have a fifty-day flu and has hacked the Academy system so that it shows him as attending the virtual versions of his classes while a friend turns in physical copies his assignments for him, but who knows how long that convoluted charade will last.

"Long-distance learning works, but really isn't quite the same, as I'm sure you remember," Kal agrees, his eyes lingering on where Kon and Tim are embracing.

Jason follows Kal's gaze and clenches his teeth together. "Hey. Sometime today would be nice if you two can pry yourselves apart," Jason calls out, stepping up onto the first step of the _Redwing_.

Tim pulls away from his friend with more than a little reluctance. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," Kon says, just as earnest and sincere as his kryptonian progenitor. "Are you sure you don't need me to—"

"I told you last night," Tim says, "it shouldn't matter anymore. But thank you."

"Give my love to Cassie."

"I. Of course," Tim says, arms dropping to his sides as he abruptly steps back and away, quickly crossing the landing platform and scrambling up onto the _Redwing_ behind Jason. "C'mon, thought you wanted to go."

Rolling his eyes, Jason tugs the hatch the rest of the way closed. "So what was that all about?" he asks as they make their way to the cockpit.

"Kon was engaged to Cassandra of Themyscira when I—when the incident happened," Tim says, curling up in the copilot's seat and gently tracing the glowing design on the front of his sweater. "Queen Hippolyta wanted the engagement called off after what happened. She's slowly coming around to it again, but it's taking a long time."

"Cassandra's the friend covering for you at the Academy, right? How does she feel about you dropping everything to fly out here with next to no real plan?" Jason asks, unable to keep all of the lingering bitterness he's feeling out of his voice.

"Cassie loves Kon. She just wants this whole thing cleared up and everything to go back to the way it was before," Tim says, which isn't exactly what Jason was driving at.

"I was thinking more about the fact that you're in love with her fiancé," Jason says, because he'll be damned if he's going to dance around it.

As has happened so often since their landing on Metropolis yesterday, Tim's entire face goes bright pink. "That's not—!" He stops, bites his lip. "Kon sees me as a friend, a brother. And that's, that's fine. We're fine."

"You're sure. Because once we leave Metropolis, there won't be anyone who can grant a divorce until we reach the Academy. I wouldn't want you to feel forced into anything you don't want," Jason snaps, flipping switches with more force than he strictly needs to.

"Wait, are you _jealous_?" Tim stares at Jason, a delighted smile blooming across his face.

"No," Jason says much too quickly, because he's not, he barely knows Tim, he has no right or reason to be jealous of a friendship that spans years upon years.

"I don't know why. It's not like you and I are _really_ married," Tim scoffs.

"If we aren't, it's only because you didn't sign your actual name to the marriage contract," Jason snaps, because he entered into that contract with the sole purpose of keeping Tim alive and in one piece and the very idea that Jason might have done anything to compromise Tim's safety is downright offensive to him. "Or do you think I bother with getting actual witnesses on the comm for all my fake marriages?"

Tim looks a little unsure at that, but recovers quickly enough. "Witnesses mean nothing if the contract's never filed anywhere."

"What? Of course it's filed—even if Kori didn't have to file it in the course of her official duties, it was transmitted automatically as soon as we landed, same as the letters from the Academy and all other mail _Redwing_ had for Metropolis," Jason patiently explains. "By now, it should be in every League world database from here to Thanagar."

"… _every_ League world? Does that include the Thousand Kingdoms?"

"They're technically claimed by the Gotham monarchies, but a lot of them won't acknowledge the sovereignty of the Dual Thrones." Jason shrugs. "Hit or miss, might take a week or two for the media feed to pick up on it and parse the meaning if no official statement is made by the Red Throne."

"I used my real name."

"What?"

"I signed my real, actual name to the contract. I didn't think it was real! I figured it was like with Caroline and Red Hood on Coryana, only this time you'd flash the certificate at the authorities and we'd be gone before anyone checked it," Tim says, eyes wide with wonder. "Holy crap, I'm _married_."

Jason snorts as he eases the ship up out of the mesosphere. "Do you need a moment?"

"I'm married to a prince of the Red Throne. _Holy crap_ ," Tim whispers. "Do realize what I can do for the people of Bristol with that kind of political clout behind me?"

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited. The Kaneish High Council will probably hound my mom and uncle to make me dissolve it," Jason warns him. "Council thinks the Thousand Houses are all too unstable to risk any kind of alliance with them."

"Oh." Tim deflates, pulling into his sweater like an upset turtle.

Jason takes pity on Tim and reaches over, ruffling his hair. "Hey, relax. If you really want this, I've got no reason to break it up anytime soon. The Council is still upset about Bruce marrying the heir to House Calabrese, he just ignores 'em and blocks all their comm codes so they can't hail him. Plus, my mom married a member of the palace guard, which the Council _definitely_ hated. She and Mama would kill me if I let the Council keep me from a love-match."

"We're not a love-match. We got married to prevent the Lord Regent from burning me to a crisp when we landed," Tim reminds him.

"Ah, but the moms don't know that, so if you want to make this work, we'll have to fake it." Jason flashes him a grin, reaching over Tim to switch on the FTL drive. "Guess it's a good thing you're such a great actor."

"Well," Tim says, catching Jason's hand and pulling it close so it's cupping Tim's cheek, "for what it's worth, I don't think it'd be any great hardship. Being in a love-match with you."

"O-oh." Jason's mouth suddenly feels very dry, and he jerks back, awkwardly withdrawing his hand. "Well then. That's. That's good." He turns away, keeping his attention focused on the viewscreen and definitely _not_ watching the reflection of Tim tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear. "That's… very good."

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, Jason tracks Tim down to the now-empty special cargo hold. Tim's moving around the padded room in controlled, powerful movements, spinning the staff in his hands like it's a part of him.

Leaning against the door, Jason watches, more than a little impressed. Donna tried to teach Jason staffwork while he was convalescing on Themyscira, but Jason was never able to move with the same fluidity Tim displays now.

"You know, I'm surprised you're so willing to go back to the Academy, considering how you went and married me to try and skip through the R.C. training process," Jason says after several minutes have passed.

Tim doesn't stumble, but he does manage to whack himself in the calf with the staff. Apparently Tim isn't as skilled as Donna, since he stops and turns when it becomes clear Jason's not going anywhere. "I graduate in less than three months. I figure I can touch base with Administration at the Academy, then finish up the term through net courses."

Not what Jason expected to hear, but he doesn't let it throw him for more than a moment. "There's still the matter of you not being an approved courier. I can't carry sensitive cargo while you're onboard."

"No, we fixed that. Married, remember?" Tim says, lifting his staff and holding it ready, as if daring Jason to challenge him.

"That takes care of the whole matter of you being contraband 'cargo' and only worked because Kal's a big softie. Plus, Kon vouched for you and he's nearly the king, so." Actually, the latter is likely the main reason Tim's not rotting in a cell on Metropolis for trying to burn Luthor up before he could be tried. Kal takes his responsibilities as Lord Regent _very_ seriously, and feels it his duty to follow the exact letter of the law.

"Oracle can vouch for my trustworthiness," Tim argues.

Jason wrinkles his nose. "Oracle says RedX is probably a trustworthy operative. They also don't know RedX's identity and they definitely haven't okayed sharing sensitive information with RedX."

"This is stupid. I don't want to go back to the Academy for good, I want to be a Royal Courier. Preferably on the _Redwing_ since I already know how to fly it," Tim says. "You said R.C.s are all Academy graduates, I'm an Academy graduate—nearly, anyway—I've already shown I can keep a secret _and_ I know how to be a spy."

There are so many problems with that, Jason doesn't even know where to start. "Being a courier is more than just an Academy diploma, you have to go through an entire training course at the Corps college. Then, _if_ you've passed the training—plenty don't—you spend another year apprenticed under a senior courier. _If_ your trainer passes you at the end of the year, _then_ you get your badge. Or, if the training officer says you're not ready, you go back for a six-month refresher course, followed by a second training year." Jason was lucky and passed the first time, but Roy went through the process three times and probably only passed in the end because Jason was his final training officer and had a better idea than most hoity-toity Academy types where Roy was coming from, why he chose to do things the way he did.

"I can do that," Tim starts, but Jason's already shaking his head.

"You're first in line for the princedom of Bristol _and_ you're an only child. The Corps won't take you, the job's too dangerous—the R.C. Corps is meant to aid in shoring up governments, not destabilize them by getting the heir to the throne killed."

"This is ridiculous," Tim huffs, spinning his staff around in a fit of pique. "When you were so busy looking up House Drake, I don't suppose you looked up Bristol as well? It's one of the larger asteroids, sure, but it's also resource-poor. Its annual GDP is in the pits, there's next to no arable land, its population has never broken one million, and there's been a steady flow of emigration for the past two decades."

"Still, that's no reason to—"

"My parents bled the domain dry and then started in on… less popular revenue streams to fund their hobbies and maintain their style of living," Tim says, and Jason shivers. He always understood Bristol to be one of the more civilized principalities of the Thousand, but Jason is also well-aware of the ways many less-ethically oriented individuals choose to turn a profit in the region.

"I was going to hand the whole place over to the Dual Thrones once I had the chance," Tim admits. "I love my land and my people, but I also want what's best for them."

"What changed?" Jason asks.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You used the past tense, implying something's changed. What do you plan to do now?"

"Well." Tim spins the staff around, resting its end on the floor before glancing at Jason through half-lowered lashes. "I don't know if you heard, but I recently married a prince of House Kane, which could theoretically bring all Bristolians under the direct purview of the Red Throne."

Jason stares at Tim, somehow still shocked by his absolute gall. "You little—" This _guy_. "Is _that_ why you want to keep this marriage? Because you want to shove responsibility for your people onto my family?"

"I honestly didn't recognize you before Metropolis, but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth once I figured it out," Tim says stubbornly. "Anyway, _you're_ one to talk about responsibility and duty, insisting that my being an only child means I can't be a courier. King Bruce may be determined to adopt half of Gotham, but Queen Katherine only has you."

"Ah, but she declared Bette her heir before she ever adopted me. Plus, I'm a bit more durable than the average human being," Jason reminds Tim. "Either way, I've got to leave you at the Academy when we get there. You can't wear that sweater forever, and if Dinah's old stuff is the only clothes that'll fit you, we're going to have a serious problem. Unless you want to show up for R.C. training in hot pants and fishnets?"

Tim smirks. "If you have such a problem with my sweater, I'm pretty sure the bustiers will fit me."

 

* * *

 

"Hey, so. I've been meaning to ask you," Tim says as he carefully charts the course they'll take back to the Academy. "Why Kandor?"

Leaning forward to double-check Tim's work, Jason glances over to him, a little confused. "Excuse me?" 

"Why were you originally taking Luthor to Kandor? Metropolis is the kingdom with the open warrant on him, where he needs to stand trial for his crimes. I get that Kandor has strong ties to Metropolis, but I doubt the queen is interested in trying a fellow monarch, deposed or not," Tim says.

Having confirmed that Tim is picking up stellar navigation just as quickly as he has nearly every other task Jason's set him, Jason leans back in his seat and snorts. "Remember, Kare Zor-El was never going to sit on the throne, she's only there because Kal stepped down."

"Still. I wouldn't think other monarchs would be so keen on encouraging people to overthrow the existing governments," Tim insists.

"What are they teaching at the Academy these days…? Never mind, it's clear you spend way too much time studying the messed-up codes that pass for laws in the Thousand Kingdoms." Jason sighs, rubbing his eyes. It's not something he wants to talk about—it's not something Jason wants to even _think_ about, to be honest. But it's probably time he did.

"I didn't take RedX's intel and use it to track down Luthor and put him in a cryocase so he could stand trial, though I suppose that is an added benefit," Jason admits. "In fact, if I'd had it my way, Kal wouldn't have even found out about Luthor being in custody for a good long while."

Tim jerks back, a shocked look on his face, and no wonder. He's basically betrayed the entire culture of his childhood to clear Kon-El's name, something that isn't likely to have happened even with all the evidence Tim's unearthed without Luthor's testimony. "Why—"

"Your friend's brother is dying," Jason says shortly. "Whatever Luthor changed between making subject B-0 and subject C-0 was different enough that Bizarro's cells are breaking down into sludge. Kandor's top geneticists have put Kon-El under a microscope and tried to determine why he's fine, but they just can't figure it out. I know it's awful that I'm putting one person over carrying out the will and justice of an entire planet, but Bizarro is my friend. I can't just stand by and do nothing while he dies."

"Oh. That's—" Tim stops, staring down at his hands. "You should have taken Luthor to Kandor first, no matter what the Lord Regent said. It would have better served the interests of the people of Metropolis. If Bizarro dies, the line of succession is down to just Kon and Jon."

"Jon-El's not in line of succession. He's Kal's kid, but he's not a scion of House Luthor," Jason says, momentarily sidetracked.

"Jon's not as legitimate as Kon or Bizarro, but he's still in line," Tim says. "Kaneish inheritance law isn't my only area of expertise. Jon's eligible on account of being half-brother to Kon and Bizarro and his mother being a Metropolis native. And I don't think Metropolis would be adverse to moving away from the Luthor bloodline entirely if push came to shove. It hasn't been all that stable, historically." Glancing up at Jason, Tim smiles slightly. "Not that I think Lois will stand for Jon on the Metropolitan throne, from what Kon's told me about her."

"Oh, _her_ you'll call by name." Jason gets that Tim's opinion of Kal is likely colored by Kal's initial treatment of Kon, but that doesn't mean he has to be so stuffy and formal. "Anyway, Dick didn't give me any new assignment when he hailed with the flight plan change," which could have been because first Tim distracted Dick and then Jason killed the link before Dick could say more, but Jason's going to take his breaks where he can get them, "and there's no point in going to Kandor if I haven't got Luthor in tow. Nope, it's straight back to the Academy for you."

"You could still go to Kandor," Tim wheedles. "Visit Bizarro. I don't mind, he was always nice to me when he visited Kon at the Academy. Even agreed to plant some long-range signal bouncers for me, though I'm not sure he really understood what he was doing."

"Wait, is _that_ how you managed to hide RedX's signal origin from Oracle?" Jason stares at Tim, equal parts aghast and impressed. "You little shit! Do you have any idea how many times I had to step in to save Bizarro's neck when he 'accidentally' wandered into some place he shouldn't be?!"

"Technically, they're Caroline's bouncers; RedX just made use of an existing network," Tim says, a sly smile sneaking onto his face. "And Bizarro can take care of himself, I doubt he needed rescuing."

"His little explorations nearly blew half a dozen ops, you ass," Jason hisses at him. " _Redwing_ is banned from ever entering the Vega system again, which is a pain in the ass when I need to make a delivery to Shayera, which is like every other month because she and Kare are doing this weird, long-distance flirting thing." The problem ( _a_ problem, not the biggest one) with being a R.C. is that you end up privy to the courtship dances of near every monarch in the League—if you aren't a participant in the dance yourself, witness Dinah.

"Oracle's welcome to the network, if they want it," Tim offers. "I think Caroline's going to retire and enjoy married life for a while."

"Ah. About that. Kinda trying to _not_ let everyone in the quadrant realize the Red Hood's also a R.C." Let alone a Kaneish prince. The _last_ thing Jason needs is for someone to make that connection and blow the entire R.C. network, to say nothing of Oracle's insidious tendrils into the Corps.

"We announced to the entirety of the Desert Rose that Caroline Hill is married to the Red Hood, Jason," Tim reminds him, voice flat. "I get enough creepy people hitting on Caroline that I'm not about to give up the fiction of her having a bad-ass husband."

"You think I'm bad-ass?" That's surprising; back at the Desert Rose, more of the bar had been frightened of 'Caroline' than they had been of Jason.

"I think the Red Hood is bad-ass," Tim corrects. "I'm still on the fence about you."

 

* * *

 

Jason waffles for a good ten minutes before he finally works up the nerve to key in the comm code. "You better be polite," he warns Tim. "They'll be mad enough with me without you being a rude little shit."

"Excuse _you_ , I'll have you know I get top marks in diplomacy—which is more than can be said for your cousin," Tim snaps. Still, he's hurriedly finger-combing his shaggy hair into some semblance of order, so at least Jason knows Tim's taking this at least a _little_ seriously.

"Believe it or not, Alfred says Damian takes after his dad when it comes to people skills at that age," Jason says. Tim looks ready to dispute that, but at that moment the viewscreen clicks on, signalling that Jason's hail has been accepted and saving him from family drama.

Or not, as the case may be.

_"Jason, why do you always have to hail in the middle of the night? You know how hard it is for your mom to fall asleep."_

Jason ducks his head, hunching his shoulders automatically. "Sorry, Mama. Did I wake you guys up?"

Renee rolls her eyes. _"As it happens, you didn't, but only because Kate_ will _insist on going over all the Council minutes before bed and you know how long_ that _takes. Your hail gives me the perfect excuse to drag her away."_

"Wait, Mama, you don't need to—" Jason tries to head off that disaster before it can happen, but he's too slow and she's already out of view.

"I thought the whole point of this exercise was to talk to your moms," Tim says, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"Yeah, but we really only need to talk to one of them, and Renee is a lot less likely to make a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be," Jason tells him. Also, Renee is a lot less likely to do everything in her power to embarrass Jason. Plus, it's felt _weird_ talking to Kate since everything happened with Sheila.

_"Jason, you have to stop doing this,"_ Kate says without preamble, plopping herself down in front of the viewscreen. _"The Council gets very upset that you treat the institution of marriage so casually, and no one is ever going to want a marriage alliance with a prince who gets married at the drop of a hat."_

"Wait, you've done this before?" Tim asks, staring at Jason.

"Only one of them was real, and that was just because Star Sapphires get a little scary when love of any sort is involved, even the platonic, brotherly kind. Roy and I separated on very amicable terms, it technically didn't actually last for longer than thirty minutes, tops," Jason informs Tim. "The one with Artemis was a fake marriage for a mission. I _explained_ this to you, Mom," he says, turning back to Kate. "It was never _real_. This one is. And I'm keeping it."

_"Yes, Kal said. You didn't think we might want to know when you finally tied the knot for good? You hurt Renee's feelings."_

_"Don't be like that,"_ Renee scolds, punching Kate lightly in the arm. _"Jason, we're both very happy for you. We just wish you'd given the family some kind of warning ahead of time so we could prepare for dealing with the Council and avoid the same kind of conniving backstabbing Bruce and Selina dealt with."_

Jason snorts. "Fat chance of _that_. 'Conniving backstabbing' is SOP for ninety percent of Gotham nobility."

Renee raises an eyebrow, dryly commenting, _"Lucius would be very hurt to hear you say that."_

"—the Duke of Fox and his family being the primary exceptions to that, naturally."

_"Anyway, you better be coming straight back here if you want us to help you make this work. You registered under 'Todd' instead of 'Kane,' and that should buy us a little time, but the newsfeeds will figure it out any day now and we need you both here if we want any chance of controlling the narrative they put out,"_ Kate says, pulling a pad into her lap and tapping away.

"Yeah, that's not going to—"

_"Selina's organizing a very nice state ceremony and Bruce is reaching out to House Drake to talk trade terms. If we take the bull by the horns from the start, we should be able to get a sizeable chunk of the populace on your side, which will at least keep the Council from any kind of public outcry; a number of them are still rather antsy about the way Metropolis deposed Luthor."_

"I _told_ you royals across the quadrant would be nervous about that," Tim says, poking Jason in the side. "No wonder your family has you running messages instead of messing with politics."

Kate turns her attention to Tim, eyebrows climbing her forehead. _"You would be Timothy?"_

"Tim," he automatically corrects, blanching slightly as he bobs his head. "Yes, ma'am—your majesty. It's, ah, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

_"Tim, then. Feel free to call me Kate, we really don't stand on ceremony amongst family, and you're certainly that, now,"_ Kate says warmly and Jason suppresses a groan, because the last thing he needs is his family charming Tim out of his corner and into their own. _"If you can knock some political savvy into our boy's head, you'll be accomplishing more than we ever did."_

"Hey," Jason protests, "I can be political. I just don't see the point if I don't need to be." He leans into Tim, carefully avoiding looking at either of his mothers. Donna promised Jason that no one on Themyscira would tell a soul what they found until Jason was ready, but he knows that's also contingent on quadrant politics, that Themyscirans don't believe the desires of a single individual should take precedence over the needs of the many. Eventually, he'll have to tell his moms, preferably before they hear it from someone else, but they have enough on their plates. It can wait a while longer. For now, Jason presses his face into Tim's hair and inhales deeply, letting the drone of Tim and Kate's excited babbling about Kaneish politics wash over him.

Sometime later, Jason is roused from a light doze by a change in movement on the viewscreen. Behind Kate, Renee's jerking her head to the side, holding up a pad of her own. Tim's still completely focused on whatever convoluted political hijinks he and Kate are discussing and he barely acknowledges it when Jason rises and quietly excuses himself from the room.

In the galley, Jason sits and props a pad on the table before accepting Renee's hail. "Sorry again for interrupting your evening."

_"Jason, you're our son. We always want to hear from you."_

"Really? Always?"

_"Well, maybe not_ always _,"_ Renee acknowledges, smiling slightly. _"Are you sure about this, Jason? Both of you are awfully young to be married, and it's my understanding that Tim is his father's heir."_

"He wants to make Bristol a domain of House Kane and become a courier, Mama. We've talked about it, we're not going in blind, promise," Jason reassures her, crossing his fingers under the table.

_"Really, now. Because Kate may be busy with her official duties, but some of us have had a chance to touch base with one another and from what Dick tells me, you didn't put nearly as much planning into this as you claim,"_ Renee snaps, her tone stealy, and Jason can't help flinching backwards. Somehow she can still make him feel like he's ten years old, with dirt all over his face and his clothes as much made of holes as cloth.

"Mama, I thought you of all people would understand eloping," Jason tells her, because he's not above using his parents' history to serve his own needs in this case. "Anyway, you know how Dick gets sometimes, seeing conspiracies everywhere."

_"If you say so."_ Renee sighs, then smiles gently, glancing back over her shoulder, no doubt to where Kate is still monopolizing Tim on the other side of the room. _"For what it's worth, I like him. I think he'll make you very happy."_

"He already has," Jason tells her, and, to his surprise, he realizes it's true. Just having Tim around to talk to, to teach, to take care of, to bounce ideas off of, to laugh with—Jason's entire being has felt lighter over the past six and a half weeks than it has in the past year, maybe longer. Even if this is just a partnership, a means of political expediency, it could work.

_"Good, because no matter what the Council tries to tell you, that's the most important thing."_

 

* * *

 

That evening, Jason's lying in his bunk reading when the door to his cabin slides open. Jason stares at the blur in the doorway, then pushes his glasses to the top of his head so he can actually see Tim. "Something wrong?"

Tim looks a little thrown. "You wear glasses?"

"For reading. Amazingly enough, having a scary-good healing factor that puts everything back to factory settings whenever there's a hiccup in your state of life works against any sort of corrective eye surgery," Jason says dryly.

"I, uh, never considered that might be an issue."

"It's not so bad. What's worse is having to deal with an umbilical cord on a near-full-grown adult." Jason makes a face, shuddering at the memory. Everyone always forgets that navels are scar tissue.

"Oh, ew." Tim shifts from one foot to the other, then squares his shoulders, straightening. "You know, I was thinking."

"Always dangerous," is Jason's automatic response.

Tim shoots him a _look_ , but Jason just flashes him a grin. " _Anyway_. I was thinking about earlier, when we called your moms."

Jason grimaces. "Sorry again about abandoning you to Mom's not-so-tender mercies; thanks for putting up with her. I was sure Bruce and Lucius were the only ones who could keep up with her when she gets that excited about Kaneish legal precedents; it's nice to be proven wrong. I'm pretty sure if this marriage thing doesn't work out, you're the one she's going to want to keep," Jason says half-jokingly.

"Don't say that, she really cares about you. As soon as you left the room, she was grilling me about my intentions, our long-term plans, your mental health…"

That last one earns a wince from Jason. Despite their claims that Jason's just the same as he's always been, it's apparently a common topic amongst his family members whenever he's not room, at least according to Cass. They may not know all that passed between Jason and Sheila during Jason's poorly-planned attempt to find his birth mother, but even the best medical aid Themyscira had to offer couldn't hide the fact that Jason woke up from his six-month-long death-coma more than a little changed.

"Don't worry, I gave you a glowing review," Tim quickly reassures him. "Five stars, wonderful travel companion, A-plus-plus, definitely would marry again."

"Oh," Jason says, slightly stunned. "Is that—do you really mean that?" He knows Tim is more than pleased about the potential positive outcomes for their union in regards to Bristol's situation, but there are other ways the same goals could be accomplished, and Jason's mama wasn't wrong about them being awfully young for marriage. "You might change your tune when you get to know me a bit better." After all, Jason wasn't lying weeks ago when he told Tim his attitude has made it hard to hold onto past crewmembers. 

Tim shakes his head, stepping far enough into the cabin so the door can slide shut behind him. "I don't think so. You're not the only one who has difficulty playing well with others." He holds up a hand when Jason starts to protest. "I pretty much have two settings, workaholic or indifferent flake. It's cost me more than a few friendships over the years."

"You and Kon-El seemed pretty close from what I saw," Jason tells him, fighting to keep his voice neutral and even.

Tim smiles slightly, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. "That's mostly because I trained him. He was sixteen when we met, but he'd only been out in the universe for about a month at that point. Lack of life experience made it easy for him to overlook my shortcomings, and once he got over his need to prove himself all the time, he was really…" Tim clears his throat, folding the cuffs of his sweater over his hands. "Kon is an easy person to love. Being friends with him was the reason I could finally make and keep other friendships at the Academy."

"Right," Jason says shortly, struggling to refocus his attention on his book so he doesn't have to see the softly glowing crest of El on Tim's chest.

"Look, when we first met, Kon and I _hated_ each other—I thought he was a reckless idiot, he thought I had a stick shoved up my ass. We only became friends because the professors assigned me to tutor him in basically everything—Kon's smart, he just had a hard time focussing on anything long enough to apply himself in that first year after he was decanted."

"Right, great. You know, breaking my moms' hearts aside, divorce is still on the table," Jason says stiffly. "We can see Admin and have them take care of it as soon as we dock at the Academy."

Tim makes such an ugly, frustrated noise that Jason finds himself involuntarily looking up at him. "I'm doing this all wrong. Jason, what I'm trying to say is that as good as Kon and I are together, we had to really work at it to get to the point we're at now. I have to work at it with all my friends, and I figured that was just the way friendships are—until I met you."

Jason frowns, closing his book and setting it aside. "Explain."

"You give as good as you get when I snark at you. You claim to not have any interest in galactic politics, but you have a better grasp of their inner workings than more than half of my classmates. You challenge me to try harder and do better. I have to work to be friends with people, but I've never had to work at it when it comes to you." Tim blinks, looking a little startled by his own words.

"Okay? I'm flattered? But like I said, we barely know each other. Could be we can only stand each other in small doses."

"Pretty sure that's one of those things a lot of people don't figure out until after they're already married," Tim says, his expression going a little sad for a moment before he shakes his head. "Stop distracting me from my point."

"Fine. What's your point?"

"What I came here to say is that we had that whole conversation about faking a love-match for your family and I meant to, I was all ready to, and then…" Tim trails off, staring at Jason.

"Well, don't leave me hanging. Did you completely fail to sell it?"

"More like I completely failed to do it," Tim says.

"You could have just opened with that instead of going on and on about Kon-El," Jason grumbles.

"Will you just—" Tim stops, inhales deeply. "You have to let me finish. Remember how I said I don't have to work with you? This was the same thing. I didn't have to work at getting your mom to believe we're in love. It came naturally."

Jason stares at him, because that's definitely the last thing he expected Tim to say. "Wait, are you saying—"

"Yeah," Tim says quickly, cheeks turning a bright red as he refuses to meet Jason's eyes. Jason's grateful for the interruption, he doesn't think either one of them is really ready to put anything in actual words at this point. "Probably. I think."

"Um. Me too," Jason mumbles. "I mean, I didn't have to work at it either. Don't have to work with you." Which isn't strictly true—since finding Tim, Jason seems to do nothing but work. Work to keep from spooking him, work to draw him out of his shell, to teach him, to keep him busy, to simply keep up with him. But somehow it never feels like work when it comes to Tim. Or at least not work that Jason minds.

Tim smiles, glancing at Jason through half-lowered lashes. "Anyway. We reach the Academy tomorrow. Probably won't see each other again until I graduate three months from now."

"Probably," Jason agrees, his mouth feeling more than a little dry.

"I kinda don't want to spend my last night of freedom alone, and was wondering if you wanted some company?"

"Oh." Jason swallows, licks his lips. "Not if you're wearing that sweater," he says without thinking, his eyes automatically drawn yet again to the glowing design.

"Well, then. That's easily fixed," Tim says. Laughing, he pulls the sweater off over his head and drops it on the floor before crossing the room the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

It's not until they're about five hours from the Academy that Tim finally notices. "There's a ship following us," Tim says, though his voice starts to lift on the final syllable, turning the statement into a near-question.

"Was wondering when you'd see it." Jason's not too worried. They're traveling along one of the common shipping lanes, a route approved for cargo carriers like _Redwing_ generally pretends to be. A lot of ships pass this way.

"Aren't you going to do something? I thought you said that no one can tell this is a R.C. ship, how can they even know to follow us?" Tim frets, leaning over the console to press numerous buttons, trying to get a read on the other ship.

"Relax, it's just a cargo hauler. We're on a shipping route, they have just as much right to be here as we do." Jason gently pushes Tim back into his seat, closing the various menus Tim's frantic button-pushing has opened.

"But—"

"I'm not even carrying any cargo at the moment, if their sensors are worth a damn, they can see _Redwing_ 's holds are empty, so even if they _are_ pirates, they have no reason to come after us."

Tim stares anxiously at the viewscreen. "Have they been following us for a while?"

Jason sighs. Clearly this isn't something Tim's about to let go anytime soon. "They're not following us, they're just using the same route," he tells Tim, which is of course when the first blast hits them.

It's a warning shot, just barely skimming across _Redwing_ 's bow, but with enough clout to it that the entire ship shudders from the glancing impact. Braced against the console, Tim raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Swearing, Jason reaches to open a channel to the other ship to demand an explanation when the viewscreen flicks to split-screen. He pauses, hand hovering, waiting to see what their attacker has to say before he gives them anything.

A girl with stark white hair comes into focus on the screen, glare at full force and blue eyes looking more than a little crazed. _"Unknown vessel, this is the ship_ Warlock _of House Aquista. Power down your systems and prepare to be boarded."_

"Fuck," Tim whispers, his face pale and gaunt, eyes wide with fear.

Jason snorts. Aquista is one of the Thousand Houses, hailing from a small domain only worth mentioning because it possesses a rich seam of platinum that's still producing strong several generations in. "Relax. _Redwing_ can out-fly any Aquistan ship," Jason says, though Tim is already rising, gathering the folds of his sweater around himself like a security blanket.

With a shrug, Jason thumbs on the mic. " _Warlock_ , this is the _Redwing_ of Her Majesty Queen Katherine of Gotham's fleet, currently engaged on a diplomatic mission. Any additional acts of aggression on your part could be taken as a declaration of war."

"Is that wise?" Tim frets, his eyes still large and fearful. "This isn't a battle cruiser."

"The Dual Thrones don't have any battle cruisers. They don't have them because they don't need them; the R.C.C. prevents things from ever getting to the point where they're necessary." Not strictly true—Jason is pretty sure the Black Throne's _Batwing_ could double as a battle cruiser in a pinch, but he's also fairly certain that neither King Bruce nor _Batwing_ 's pilot will ever admit it.

"Diplomacy isn't going to work here," Tim insists.

"Tim, _Redwing_ would be a sorry example of a R.C. ship if it could only manage diplomacy. Couriers are allowed to choose and outfit their ships as they see fit, and you can bet I'm not about to fly anywhere without some serious firepower." _Batwing_ may be the only ship of the Dual Thrones that could be called a battle cruiser, but _Redwing_ is a close second.

_"_ Redwing _, House Aquista has no wish to challenge the Red Throne, but you may be carrying stolen Aquista property. I repeat, shut down your systems and prepare for boarding."_

"Uh, how about _no_ ," Jason mutters, reaching to arm the cannons when a second shot reaches them.

This time, the shot hits _Redwing_ full-on, causing the entire ship to rock and warning lights to flare to life across the console. "What the dickens," Jason mutters, scrambling to counter.

Tim reaches across him for the comm switch, but Jason grabs Tim's wrist before he can do anything. "I can stop this," Tim insists, struggling to pull free of Jason's grip.

"The Dual Thrones don't negotiate with pirates or terrorists." 

"Isn't that what the Red Hood is?" Tim snaps back, though he just as quickly deflates, slumping into Jason's hold. "Sorry, that's—sorry."

"Hey, no, I get it," Jason says even as he activates _Redwing_ 's shields and brings the aft cannons online. "Academy training teaches that you can solve everything with diplomacy. It's a little jarring to get out in the real world and learn that just isn't true."

"No, that's not," Tim starts to say, but he's interrupted by the entire ship shuddering once, hard, before going uncomfortably still. "What just happened?"

Before Jason can respond, the door to the cockpit comes flying across the room, nearly hitting them as Jason scrambles to put Tim behind him.

"Jason, don't—"

"Shut up, Tim, you're an untrained civilian _and_ being bigger than you means I make a better shield. Sturdier, too," Jason growls, because he did this wrong last time with Sheila and he'll be damned if he's going to make the same mistakes twice.

In what remains of the blown-apart doorframe of the cockpit stands the girl from earlier. This close, she looks even younger than she did on the viewscreen, no more than sixteen, seventeen, tops, her snow white hair at odds with her apparent youth. She ignores Jason, turning her body so she's fully focused on Tim where he's peering over Jason's shoulder. "Beloved," she croons. "It's been far too long."

Jason can feel Tim jerk violently against his back, almost like he's been stung. "What the—" Jason starts to ask, but he falls silent as Tim's hand settles on his shoulder, tight in its grip, but also steady, free of any kind of tremor.

"No," Tim says firmly.

"No, beloved?"

"No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to try and pretend what was between us was was ever anything more than a business dealing between our parents," Tim snaps. He relaxes his grip on Jason slightly, then gives Jason's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Jason, may I present Darla Aquista of House Aquista. Darla, this is Jason Todd of the Royal Courier Corps." 

"Tim. What is this?" Jason asks, because things are starting to come together, and he must be getting it wrong, he must be misunderstanding.

"My ex-wife. _Very_ ex," Tim growls. "Remember how I said my parents turned to alternate revenue sources to fund their hobbies after tapping Bristol dry? One of those sources was me; they sold me off for a small percentage of House Aquista's annual income until I came of age."

"Don't be like that, beloved. The bond between us is eternal and without end."

" _No_. The bond between us had strict parameters—'til death do us part.' You _died_ , Darla. You died and you were interned, and what happened to you after was awful, I'm sorry you had to go through that, but our contract ended long before you were ever dipped in that pool," Tim snaps, and suddenly all of Tim's questions about Lazarites make a lot more sense to Jason. "Even your own father agreed that the binding between House Drake and House Aquista was dissolved."

Darla beams at him. "Daddy's dead."

"Because you strangled him with your bare hands after he gave Ra's everything to bring you back, you psychotic bitch," Tim mutters, low enough that only Jason can hear it.

"Ra's al Ghul says our union is still be valid. I didn't really die, I was just reborn from a lower state of existence. Like a butterfly, I've emerged as something more wonderful than anything I ever was before," Darla says, her eyes losing focus and going somewhat distant. Her dreamy state lasts all of a second before she snaps back to half-crazed viciousness. "You're _mine_."

"Tim doesn't belong to anyone but himself," Jason says, because House al Ghul doesn't get to have this, doesn't get to take this from him too. "Kaneish law is clear; if you weren't exposed to lazar elements until post-mortem, any legal contracts ceased to be valid upon your first death. And, as I'm sure Tim, as an expert in all types of Kaneish law, will be able to tell you," Jason adds with a sharp smile, "that's one law that holds just as true on Lazar as it does on Gotham. Ra's lied to you, lady."

She looks lost, off-kilter—but it only lasts for a moment before she settles back into herself. "That's fine, no matter. We'll just have to renew our bonds, Tim, my love."

"Like hell we will," Tim says flatly.

"Ra's has assured me that people are willing to do any number of things for love," Darla says brightly. "Whether it's romantic or, say, filial."

"I. My parents? What have you done to my parents?" Tim gasps, struggling to shove Jason out of his way. For his part, Jason plants his feet firmly and refuses to budge.

"I don't know what you mean, darling. They're being hosted as guests of House Aquista. I'm sure they'd love to have front row seats to our wedding."

"Well, I don't know about that," Jason drawls, taking an undue amount pleasure in the words. "Because even if you manage to get Tim to agree to marry you again, he's not the only one you have to worry about. Y'see, Tim's remarried, and something tells me his husband won't take you on as a wife. Kaneish law also makes it very clear that _all_ members of a marriage have to be in agreement for the union to be valid."

" _What_." Darla spits out the word with such violence that Tim honest-to-god pulls Jason back from her. "He would never— who would _dare_ —" She stops, freezes almost, and the mask of anger slowly bleeds away from her face. "No matter. Everyone has a price, and House Aquista has very deep pockets."

"Jason, no, stay out of this. Darla, I'll go with you, I'll marry you, just—"

"I don't know about that," Jason says, raising his voice to talk over Tim. "Royal Couriers have notoriously firm morals. Plus, we get paid fairly well, which makes it very hard to bribe us."

For the first time, Darla seems to truly see Jason, her pupils turning to pinpricks as all of her attention zeroes in on him. "You. You're his husband." Her head tilts to the side and she smiles slightly. "Well. That makes it even easier. I was worried it was that kryptonian king-to-be. You're just… a mailman." She laughs.

"Lady, you don't want to open this can of worms," Jason says, ready to reveal just who she's messing with, all of it, even the parts Tim doesn't know yet. He doesn't get any further, though, because Jason's fast, he's trained, but he's not that fast, not that well-trained.

And all the blasters are locked up in the armory, per R.C. protocol when there's an unvetted and unsanctioned passenger onboard.

Darla isn't anything like a marksman, so the blast wings Jason in the shoulder, the impact knocking him sideways, away from Tim. "Holy fuck," Jason gasps, because the Red Hood was out of circulation for nearly a year while Jason took simpler, safer missions, and there are certain kinds of pain the mind finds it easier to just suppress and forget.

"Leave him out of this, Darla," Tim snaps, being less than helpful as Jason struggles to regain his feet, trying to push Jason of the way instead of helping him. "I'll do it, I'll get a divorce, I'll marry you, just—"

The second blast hits Jason square in the gut and that's bad, gut shots are bad, he remembers that much from R.C. training, his mind trying to call up statistics on infection and relapse rate as his body starts to go into shock from blood loss as well as pain. Fuck, this is a lot worse than last time. This is—

Tim finally manages to extract himself from where Jason's bulk had him pinned against the console, which is stupid, Tim needs to stay behind Jason, needs to stay back, because—because— "Darla, I've been willing to go along because we both got screwed by everything our parents did, but if you shoot again, if you kill him, I'll—"

Jason doesn't know if Tim finishes, because that's when the third shot hits him, not that he really feels it. Doesn't even really see it because the edges of his vision are swimming, and then everything is orange and red and _hot_.

And then everything's just black.

 

* * *

 

Donna is there when he opens his eyes and for one brief moment Jason is eighteen again, waking up from a six-month-long death-coma, still reeling from Sheila's Earth-shattering revelations about his parentage, and full of a rage he can't explain.

"There you are," Donna says, smiling down and smoothing Jason's hair back from his forehead. "Epione said there was a good chance you'd wake up today."

"Tube?" Jason asks, surprised that he's in a biobed instead of a regentube.

"You didn't have all the cells in your body freezing, bursting, fixing themselves, then repeating the cycle all over again for several hours this time. No regentube necessary."

"Better." At least, Jason hopes it's better, an improvement over before. He's a little hazy on how he ended up in Aceso Hospice this time around. Something involving heat… a fire, maybe? "Time?"

"You've been out for almost eleven weeks, now."

"Better," Jason affirms, certain of that now. He wishes he could manage longer sentences, but his brain has the same mushy quality he remembers from the last time he went through this. The words are there, not-quite on the tip of his tongue, and it's unspeakably frustrating that Jason can't recall enough of them to form the questions he wants to ask.

Donna's mouth thins to an unhappy line. "As your friend, I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we'd really prefer if you worked harder to avoid dying entirely rather than getting 'better' at it. I think Tim in particular would appreciate it."

_Tim_. It all comes back at once—capturing Luthor, finding Tim, Coryana, the marriage, Metropolis, _Darla_. " _Tim_ ," Jason gasps, struggling to sit up. "Need… save him." And there, look, nearly an entire sentence. Not that Jason has time to dwell on this small success, not when Tim has been in Darla's insane clutches for nearly three months already. If she's taken Tim to Lazar, if in her insanity she's forced him into one of the pools— Jason shudders. No one deserves that, living or dead.

Shaking her head, Donna laughs, pulling Jason out of a downwards spiral and back to himself. "That's not something you need to worry about. From what I've been told, Tim is more than capable of saving himself."

"How…?" Last Jason can remember, he and Tim were cornered in _Redwing_ 's cockpit, no blasters, no knives, not even Tim's staff, and Darla blocking the door. "But Darla?"

"They must take marriage vows very seriously where Tim comes from," Donna says, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Jason tries to probe deeper, to find out more, but Donna pretends to no longer understand his half-assed attempts at communication, instead insisting Jason complete a series of tests designed to assess his cognitive reasoning. Half-way through, Epione comes in and runs Jason through his paces to test his manual and motor functions. By the time Epione's taking a blood sample, Jason's so exhausted he doesn't even have the strength to say goodbye to the two Themyscirans before they leave.

It's not until the door is closing and Jason is on the verge of sleep that it occurs to him that Donna never did say if Tim is alright.

Each time Jason wakes up, he keeps expecting to see Tim in the chair next to the biobed, which is ridiculous. Ridiculous because Tim likely has at least a week left at the Academy; ridiculous because Themyscira strictly regulates who can even enter the star system, let alone land on the plane; ridiculous because why should Tim care enough to visit someone he barely knows, a husband of convenience, when the guy spent his entire previous marriage just trying to forget it ever happened.

In a desperate attempt to soothe the strange, empty ache in his chest that none of Epione's treatments seem capable of relieving, Jason starts the slow task of recuperation.

A week passes, one where Jason is constantly quizzed and tested. Donna pops her head in a couple of times, but she never stays for long. Jason understands, she's busy with her own R.C. duties. Plus, no matter what she says, she and he were never truly friends. She just took him under her wing after the last time, more as a favor to Dick than anything else.

His family hails him, but everyone's busy with some great big mess going on back in Kane, can't spare the time to visit. It's not like before, after Sheila, when everyone was worried he was gone for good, and Jason had people stopping by to see him every other day. They're used to it now.

Jason lies in bed and tries to read, tries to pretend he's having trouble focusing on the words because of lingering side effects and nothing else. The ache lessens to a constant dull throb, but never truly goes away.

Last time, Jason woke up scared and anxious, with a fiery rage bubbling under his skin that frightened him with its intensity. Now, Jason still feels anxious, but there's no anger, just useless, pointless worry that gnaws at his gut, twisting and turning it until he's left queasy bordering on nauseous.

Every time Jason tries to hail Tim, his fingers start shaking and he can't make them even do so much as call up the keypad. When, after days of trying, he at last manages that much, he finds himself staring in dumb horror at the digits as it slowly dawns on him that he has no idea what Tim's code is. He never thought to ask for it before, has no way of getting it now. The private codes of royals at any level are guarded and kept secure to ensure that people who are allowed next to no privacy in the rest of their lives have at least that much. There are people who can and do still hack the system, but Jason isn't one of them, and he knows there's no way he can ask Babs to for reasons too numerous to list.

So Jason attempts a more roundabout approach, logging online to see if he can't at least send Tim a message though Caroline's channel. Only when he tries to access the vidsite he found Caroline on before, the pad just spools, never going anywhere. After much trial and error, Jason discovers his pad has heavy blocks on it, stopping him from connecting to much of anything at all. When he confronts Donna about it, demands an explanation from Epione, pleads with his moms, they all tell him the same thing—that he's not allowed access to anything that might distress or upset him, not until he's fully recovered. No one says it's because they fear he might be prone to the same fits of uncontrolled rage that plagued him last time, but Jason can hear it in the slight tremor of their voices, the way they all refuse to look him in the eye.

At the start of the second week, Epione declares Jason well enough to move to his room at the Royal Courier Corps college. The college is the closest thing the Corps has to an actual, physical headquarters, and all active couriers have or share rooms in the attached barracks, even though most couriers are so busy flitting around the galaxy they rarely see the inside of their rooms more than a handful of times each year.

Still, Jason tries to muster up some optimism and hobbles down the hall to poke his head into the room Kori and Roy share. It's empty, of course. They were both out on the edge of the quadrant when Jason hailed them to stand witness for him and Tim, about to go dark for different reasons. It could be they haven't even heard yet about what happened. Or maybe they're like Jason's family, wishing he'd really just stop being so stupid, so reckless, so embarrassing.

Jason's dragging his feet back to his room when a sturdy hand slaps him on the back, nearly knocking him over.

"Congratulations on your nuptials! I've personally never seen the point of the practice, but I hear marriage can have a calming effect on man's barbaric nature."

"Artemis?" His old partner is the last person Jason expected to see. Sure, Artemis is an official courier for Queen Hippolyta, but the last time they spoke, Artemis swore she would never forgive Jason for his cruel and cowardly betrayal of Bizarro to the Kandorian Institute of Genetics. Never mind that cellular degradation isn't exactly an enemy one can face in a field of combat.

"Haven't you heard?" Artemis crows, her face alight as she grabs his shoulders and practically dances about the hall with him. It's a little disconcerting—Jason's sure he's never seen her this happy before, not without a weapon in her hands and an opponent to fight, at least. "Those squirrly kryptonians actually came through—Bizarro is improving! He's already able to leave the stasis tube for longer and longer stretches of time."

"Bizarro is better? That's great news," Jason says, a smile finding its way to his face as, for the first time since waking, the pain in his chest eases to the point where it's hardly noticeable.

"Yes. Once the doctors had both original templates to work with, it was apparently easy to isolate what was wrong, so I suppose I should thank you for your help with that matter. And. Apologize. For my past behavior," Artemis grits out. "I'm on my way to take my leave of Queen Hippolyta and then I'm bound straight for Kandor. You'll come with me, of course."

"Ah, that, uh. Won't be be happening," Jason says, waving the cane in his hand. "Kinda stuck here until I finish my rehab and Epione gives me a clean bill of health."

Artemis looks at the cane as if she's noticing it for the first time. Maybe she is, since her next move is to slowly lower Jason to the floor. "You're injured?"

Jason stares at her, stunned. He was sure everyone must know about how he was stupid enough to go and get himself killed. Again. "Was on the wrong end of blaster a few months ago," Jason manages, his throat tightening as he remembers why he's here and the ache returns.

"And you're still ailing? I thought the lazar elements gave you accelerated healing."

"Apparently it takes a while longer when you've basically got to regrow your entire heart," Jason says, and tries not to think about metaphors.

The third week after Jason wakes, Donna is waiting for him in the hall when Jason leaves his daily round of physical therapy. "No more cane," she notes as she pushes off from the wall to walk beside him.

"I'm improving in leaps and bounds, apparently. Shorter death-coma means less loss of muscle or whatever." Jason still isn't back to his usual rolling stride, and he can't stand for long periods of time, but he no longer feels like a wobbly, newborn lamb, about to trip over his own feet.

"How's your reaction time? I remember fine motor skills were an issue for you last time."

"Don't even have the psychosomatic tremor this time," Jason proudly tells her, wiggling his fingers at Donna.

"Cognitive reasoning?"

"Just fine, which I'm sure Epione's already told you." Jason eyes Donna suspiciously. "What's up? Does Dick need me back at the helm? Don't know about _Redwing_ , but I'm good to go." Not that Jason expects he'll be allowed back in the field anytime soon. One of the many disadvantages to having the head of the R.C. Corps for a cousin, particularly when your family is as overprotective as Jason's.

Donna snorts, shaking her head. "Hardly. There's no way you're getting back out there for at _least_ another couple of months, if that. No, I need someone to take over some of the classes this year and I figured you might want to get off your lazy butt and actually do your job."

"What happened to you doing it all yourself? Isn't that pretty much the entire reason why Dick and Hippolyta agreed to pull you off the active roster?"

"My niece is one of the new cadets, and we don't want anyone accusing me of favoritism," Donna says, puffing up with pride the way she and Diana always do when speaking of Cassandra. "What do you say? Ready to do more than just lounge around feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Yeah," Jason says slowly. "I think I am."

 

* * *

 

The first time Jason sees Tim again is six weeks after Jason's waking in Aceso Hospice, more than four months since Darla's attack. Tim walks in forty minutes late to the third subterfuge lesson of the term and, for a moment, Jason forgets what he's saying and just stares.

Tim is fine. Weeks of worrying, of hearing nothing, of being brushed off by Donna whenever Jason tries to find out more and Tim is absolutely, perfectly, 100% fine.

Restless shifting and a not-so-subtle cough serve to draw Jason's attention back to what he's supposed to be doing. More than a little flustered, Jason clears his throat and tries to return to his lecture on how to create a persona on the fly. It doesn't go as well as the previous forty-minutes' worth, Jason's lost his stride and his eyes keep getting drawn to the back of the room instead of focusing on the class as a whole. Somehow, he makes it to the end of the class without spacing out a second time, not that Jason really remembers any of it.

The lesson comes to a close and Jason dismisses everyone. Nearly. "Cadet Drake, if you could stay, now is as good a time as any to discuss the penalties for missed classes and tardy arrivals," Jason says, struggling to keep his voice steady and professional. It feels as if it's on the verge of breaking, something it hasn't done for years.

Cadets file out of the room, some of them laughing and slapping Tim on the back as they pass him; if Tim is still struggling to maintain friendships without Kon-El there to ease the way, it doesn't show. One of the students, a blonde whom Donna had proudly introduced as her niece at the start of the term, pauses to give Tim a tight, lingering hug, and Jason bites his tongue so hard he starts to taste blood.

Finally, it's just the two of them in the otherwise-empty classroom. Jason gathers his pad and the cane he still has to depend on after standing still for too long and goes to the door. "Well, come on, I'm not doing this here, the chairs are shit."

Tim follows Jason silently out the door but quickly outpaces him, his steps light and quick next to Jason's tired plod. Not that Jason minds too much, since it gives him a chance to finally get a good look at Tim.

"…is that my jacket?" Jason asks before he can stop himself, immediately recognizing the beat-up leather jacket he favors when masquerading as the Red Hood.

"So what if it is?" Tim says, hackles up already, though he does at least try to slow down enough that they can walk side by side. "I get cold easily. Courier Troy said we could wear jackets over our uniforms if we wanted."

Jason looks at him, at the way Tim shrinks into the worn leather and pulls it close around himself like armor and recognizes the scared, skittish stowaway he coaxed out of _Redwing_ 's wall months ago. "Relax," Jason says. "I'm not going to space you for skipping class."

Tim stares at him for a moment, then lets out a bark of laughter. "Are you certain? Pretty sure it's a much more heinous offense than stealing NutriPacs."

"Clearly, you haven't done KP around here yet," Jason says, smiling with relief that he can still draw out this side of Tim, even after what happened. 

"Only just landed an hour ago," Tim says. "Sorry. I'd like to see about making up the stuff I missed, if possible. The Dual Thrones were nice enough to postpone until the end of the Academy term, but even with the time gap the trial was still a circus and it didn't help that the media tried to drag it out longer than necessary."

"I'm out of the loop on everything. No one will give me any news, they keep saying it might impede the healing process," Jason admits. "What trial are you talking about?"

"The murder trial," Tim says with obvious surprise. "A prince-consort killing a ruling princess isn't something that can just be swept under the rug and ignored. Though I'm told the tribunal appreciated my argument that I was following League protocol by torching contraband illegally smuggled into a royal residence. Of course, your uncle represented the Dual Thrones and I hear he has a weird sense of humor." Tim tilts his head to the side, curious. "You really didn't know? I thought you must be mad about getting dragged into my family drama when I didn't hear anything from you for months."

"I was in a death-coma while my body fixed itself. It's called a 'coma' because the body is clearly doing stuff, but there's no brain activity to speak of during that time and bodily functions are pretty much on hold. For all intents and purposes, I was dead."

"Oh. Well. Leave it to you to have a really good excuse for not returning my hails," Tim says, glancing away and shrinking further into the jacket.

"Hey, no. I should have tried harder than I did to contact you after I woke up, and that's on me. Apparently they don't believe in taking messages for dead people at the hospice, so when it looked like you hadn't tried to hail me, I stupidly assumed you were mad I didn't do more to fight back." Or that something awful had happened and Tim hadn't made it off _Redwing_ alive.

"Renee was right. We really are a pair," Tim says with a rueful laugh.

Oh no. All of what Tim's said is just now catching up with Jason. "Wait. You've been to Gotham? You've been to Gotham. That means you met my family." Crap. There's pretty much no worse scenario he can think of beyond his moms getting to meet his maybe-sort-of-definite spouse in person without him there to mediate and run interference.

"Yeah, they're great. Kate even came to Themyscira on _Nightwing_ with me. Something about how state weddings can only be postponed for so long?"

Jason was wrong. There is _definitely_ a worse-case scenario, and he's just landed smack-dab in the middle of it.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Jason has successfully avoided being in the same room as Kate for longer than an hour for going on five years now. She thinks it's because of all the personality quirks he picked up following his death, but that's really only a very small part of it. The truth is that he doesn't know if he can look her in the eye, knowing what he now knows.

Jason thought he could keep it to himself, that it wouldn't matter in the long run, and both Donna and Epione had promised to respect whatever decision he came to when they showed him the test results. Then Tim came along, talking about duty and responsibility and heaven help Jason, but he can't help but think how disappointed Tim would be if knew the truth, knew what Jason's actually been running from for all these years.

"Hey," he says, bumping Tim's shoulder with his own as they turn down the corridor leading to Jason's room. "If I hadn't come along, how were you planning to get Darla off your back?"

Tim ducks his head, shuffles his feet somewhat, though he still manages to outpace Jason. "Marry Kon, actually. It would have been Cassie—she was closer—but Queen Hippolyta has been really leery about Cassie getting involved with any men after Kon's little brainwashed temper tantrum."

Jason clenches his teeth, forces himself to breathe through the wave of feelings that rises at the very idea of Tim marrying Kon-El. Makes certain it's passed on before he opens his mouth again. "What would've happened to Bristol then? When your old man finally kicked it, I mean. Can't exactly rule in absentia from the other side of the galaxy."

"I don't see why not, he does that more than half the time now," Tim mutters angrily. Sighs. "It wouldn't have been a real marriage, just a stop-gap until I came up with a permanent solution for Darla. If Dad died or stepped down before then, I would've gone back to Bristol and seen to my duties there."

"That would've put you dangerously close to Darla's usual stomping grounds, I'd think," Jason points out. "Wouldn't it be easier to just stay on Metropolis and let some other family member take on the title of ruling prince?"

"Haven't got any other family." Tim grimaces and hunches his shoulders, the movement almost-entirely swallowed up by Jason's jacket. "The genes that allow for fire-breathing are primarily recessive, but they also make it difficult to carry a fetus to term if both parents aren't active carriers. My mom went through, like, three failed pregnancies before finally having me. Might have gone better with high-tech medical help, but Bristol doesn't have that kind of money to throw around. Or at least it doesn't have it for things that aren't my parents' hobbies."

"Still. All the Thousand Kingdoms are technically the domains of the Dual Thrones. They would have stepped in with a solution if there was no one to rule Bristol. It's happened with other asteroids in the past—Bette's branch of the family took over on Trent when House Johnson died out. You wouldn't've had to come back," Jason presses.

"Yes, I would have. It's my responsibility, I can't just shove it off on someone else and hope for the best. I've spoken to Kate and she's agreed to fold Bristol into the domains directly overseen by House Kane—the government of the Red Throne will see to the day-to-day operations, but I'll be responsible for all major decisions and matters of policy," Tim explains. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It's not sudden. We never got a chance to really talk about it before," Jason protests, trying to hide how uncomfortable he is with all this talk about responsibility. "You must have a low opinion of Dick, then. He's first in line for the Black Throne but he still runs the occasional mission for Bruce and the League."

"Not really. Bruce has several other children, after all," Tim says. "From what I've seen, they'd all do well on the Black Throne, though of course each has different strengths."

"True." Jason's cousins are all scary-competent compared to him, even baby Helena, already up and walking at just shy of nine months. "Guess Kate really got the short straw when it came to the adoption grab-bag. Bette's great, and it's a good thing, too. No one'd ever want some gutter-trash street kid as their king."

Tim freezes in place and whirls around in front of Jason, fixing him with a glare. "Don't say that! Youngest person to graduate from the Academy this century, finished R.C. training in half the time it takes most people, missions that are things of legends among cadets and couriers alike—your family have been singing your praises to me for literal _months_ , you don't get to take all those accomplishments and pretend they mean nothing. You're so much more than where you started from, Jason!"

Jason stares at Tim, 175 centimeters of righteous indignation, and marvels at the fact that anyone as loyal as Tim ever had a problem maintaining friendships. Marvels at the irony of Tim's words. "…it's funny that you should mention where I started from," Jason says, lowering his voice and forcing Tim to lean in close to hear him. "Considering that I didn't start in Gotham's streets. They're just where I ended up."

Sensing the change in mood, Tim's fury bleeds away, leaving him looking more than a little unsure. "Jason, what are you talking about? Everyone knows the story about how Kate found you and took you in. They made one of those cheesy, low-budget feel-good vids about it and everything."

Sighing, Jason runs his fingers through his hair, feeling the change in texture indicating the streak of white amid all the black. He should really get around to re-dyeing it. Or maybe not, since if he does this, if Jason acknowledges what Sheila told him, there won't be any point in his persisting in keeping his connection to Lazar hidden. "Here's the thing," Jason says, passing his pad to Tim so he can press his palm to the lockpad for his room. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he holds it in, trying to calm the too-fast beating of his heart. "I'm telling you all this because I wasn't born anywhere on Gotham, I was born on a tiny shuttle halfway between Gotham and Lazar. And because no matter what all the feel-good vids say, the woman who gave birth to me wasn't a junky, or a doctor, or anything like that. She was a princess, one everyone gave up for dead and tried to forget."

"Jason…" Tim says slowly, like a warning, like anything can stop Jason now that he's finally saying this, finally letting the words he's been running from for years tumble out like an avalanche.

"She was the lost princess."

"That's—! You can't just _say_ something like that!" Tim insists.

"Yes," a different, familiar voice says, and Jason's eyes shoot open as he stares in horror at the woman sitting in his desk chair, looking every bit the queen she is. "You can't just say that, Jason," Kate admonishes. "Not without some kind of explanation at least, since this is the first I've ever heard of my sister having a child before she died."

 

* * *

 

Jason knows it's ridiculous and highly unlikely—he _knows_. He didn't believe it either when Sheila told him, not even after she related the story about how she squirreled Beth away from Lazar pirates only to have the princess fall victim to her own insanity on the way back to Gotham. He didn't believe it when Sheila explained why she named herself as his birth mother when the shuttle reached Gotham and it was time to file documentation for the baby she'd been left with, how she hid him from the Red Throne at Beth's request, the girl not thinking her family would accept the child of someone driven mad by the lazar pools and Sheila either too awestruck or too ignorant to disbelieve her. That Jason still found his way into the Red Palace as the adopted son of Beth's sister seemed so completely improbable that Jason hadn't believed a word of it, wouldn't have ever believed it if Donna and Epione hadn't come to him with the gene tests when he finally woke up after being dead for six long months.

Sitting at the foot of his bed, staring down at his hands, Jason relates all of this to his stunned audience. Tim, who started at the head of the bed, gradually moves closer as Jason talks until there's scant space between them and they're almost, but not quite, touching.

"Everyone talks about the the lost princess like she's someone who lived centuries ago instead of decades. The romantic heroine of some old fairy tale, eternally beautiful and out of reach, just waiting to be found again," Jason chokes out, closing that last small space to press close to Tim. For a brief second Tim tenses, but he relaxes just as quickly, taking Jason's clenched hand in his own and squeezing it reassuringly.

"No one wants to hear that she was a real person, a scared fifteen-year-old kid who was attacked and tortured and just when she thought she'd found some kind of escape, was stuck in a slurry of alien chemicals and told how wonderful it was that now she could never, ever die. Which, ha. At least she proved them wrong about that in the end." Jason falls silent, turning his head so he can press his face into Tim's hair and just. Breathe.

There's a long exhale of air from Tim. "Wow. That's… And I thought I had family drama."

"I knew she didn't die when the ship was attacked," Kate says softly. "I told Dad, begged him to look harder, but he said it was pointless, that _Batwing_ checked it out and _Ocherwing_ and all those on her were just… pieces. _Batwing_ 's courier brought back my mother, what little was left of her, but he could only find the jaw of the courier piloting _Ocherwing_ and nothing of Beth. But I knew she was alive. It's a twin thing, probably." She laughs, short and bitter, half-choked with grief.

Jason turns his head to look at the woman who's been more his mother than any of the other women in his life who've laid claim to the title over the years. She looks awful. Broken. He's only seen her like this twice before—once, when Renee was still active in the palace guard and took a blaster shot while foiling an assassination attempt, the other time when Jason was eighteen and his heart started beating again after six months of being utterly still. Jason swore then that he'd never again be responsible for making his mother look like that, but he's gone and done it anyway.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. Licks his lips. "Sheila," Jason croaks. Stops. Swallows again. "Sheila said she thought that might've been why Beth was as stable as she was, sanity-wise. Because of the twin thing, I mean. That maybe you helped her hold on long enough to get away." Jason isn't sure if he believes it—telepaths, sure, everyone knows telepathy is real, just look at ma'aleca'andrans, atlanteans, and any number of other species, to say nothing of the various individual sports that keep popping up here and there. But no one's really sure how twins work, if there's an actual connection formed by sharing a womb. If it can give his mother some comfort now though, Jason is more than willing to believe that there might be something there.

Kate sniffs, smiling at Jason through the tears in her eyes. "I'd like to think that's true. Plus, Beth and I were identical, so that makes you practically my son, genetically-speaking. Maybe that connection's what led me to you, in the end."

"Could be," Jason allows, though he's a bit more skeptical of that and thinks it's far more likely to be a combination of dumb luck and far-fetched coincidence. Beside him, Tim suddenly sits bolt upright and lets out a surprised squeak. "What?"

"It just occurred to me," Tim says. "Jason, if you were born before Kate ever came to the throne, before she made Bette her heir… If you're her genetic son… Your claim precedes Bette's. You're heir to the Red Throne."

Jason winces, but it's not like he had any chance that no one would realize _that_ particular revelation. "Well, you're the expert in Kaneish inheritance law."

"Holy crap," Tim whispers. "I'm going to be married to a king."

Kate laughs, rolling her eyes. "Sweetie, when it comes down to it, _you're_ going to be a king."

" _Holy crap._ " Tim twists around, dislodging Jason's head so he can stare up at him. "I could finally wipe out all those backwards, messed-up laws in the Thousand. No more children being forced into marriages or princes starving their people for a few extra credits. "

"Well. If you can manage to get the Council to agree on anything. And you can find a way to make the Thousand Houses fall in line," Kate says, fishing a handkerchief out and blowing her nose in a most undignified and unqueenly manner.

Jason laughs, pulling Tim into a hug and, consequently, half onto his lap, tucking the other man— _his husband_ —under his chin. "You haven't seen Tim in action; he had half the lowlifes on Coryana eating out his palm with just a glare and a pair of boots. If he says he can do it, I don't doubt him."

"I didn't think it was my _boots_ you were paying attention to," Tim says, because he can never leave well enough alone. "Though, I suppose you being a crown prince means I should just forget about joining the Royal Couriers." He sighs.

"Why's that?" Kate asks. "I know you got here late and everything, but surely you saw that a good part of the Corps is made up of princes and princesses, crown, hereditary, and otherwise. It's pretty much a right of passage at this point."

Tim sputters and jabs an elbow into Jason's stomach. "You ass! You said I couldn't become a courier as long as I was the hereditary prince of Bristol!"

Jason gasps and coughs—Tim's elbows are _sharp_. "It's kinda a secret that most of the Corps is royal, and you weren't approved yet. But, yeah, it's not an issue. I mean, Bette's the other courier for the Red Throne when she isn't busy with official duties on Gotham."

"If anything, you two are particularly suited for the job," Kate says, an evil smile forming on her face. "Jason's able to come back from just about anything, and if my understanding of fire-breather physiology is correct, Tim, you're pretty much fireproof."

"Ugh. You're disgusting and I hate you and all your stupid family," Tim grumbles even as he snuggles closer. "You better make it up to me."

"And that, I believe, is the signal that it's time for me to take my leave of you," Kate says, rising to her feet and moving to the door. "Have fun, boys. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

" _Mom!_ "

 

* * *

 

Six months, two weeks, and three days later, Jason is finally standing at _Redwing_ 's helm once more. Any damage resulting from Darla's attack and her subsequent toasting has been cleared up and fixed, the door repaired, and, from the looks of it, even the chairs have been replaced with something newer and fancier. There are _cupholders_.

Leaning in the doorway, Donna smiles at him. "You sure about this? You know, you aren't half-bad at teaching. You could always stick with it, finish up the term."

"Please," Jason snorts. "Like I'm going to stick around any longer than I have to with Dickface here." Because of _course_ Dick came rushing in to help as soon as Donna pointed out that there were students both she and Jason couldn't exactly be impartial with. Not that Dick's much of an improvement, since he's technically related to Tim as well at this point, but considering the number of cadets and couriers hailing from various Houses, it's hard to find anyone who can be said to be a _truly_ impartial instructor. "And besides, I thought you were getting tired of cadets practicing knife-throwing in the common room?"

Donna sighs the sigh of the long-suffering and frequently harassed. "Their aim has gotten surprisingly good, you know, and at least they practice with blunt blades. Did you know Epione's had three cadets come to her with broken legs since Dick's arrival? They keep trying to jump from building to building, and most of them haven't even learned to tuck and roll when they land."

Jason laughs, because he remembers doing the same thing not long after Kate took him in, only he managed to limp away with just a sprained ankle. "Yeah, I'm definitely getting out of here at the right time."

"Well, then. Guess there's just one last thing before you go." She pushes off from the doorframe and strides down the corridor to the entry hatch. Gulping, Jason tugs the wrinkles out of his pants and straightens his jacket. Runs his fingers through his hair, and checks his reflection in the viewscreen one last time before following Donna out.

Tim is waiting at the foot of the short staircase, cheeks flushed with excitement, or maybe it's just the wind—the breeze has already tugged a lot of his hair loose of the messy tail he has it pulled back in. As soon as Jason comes into view, Tim's entire face lights up and in that moment, Jason swears Tim's never looked more beautiful.

Of course, he thinks that about Tim several times each day, so it could be Jason's a little biased.

"Ready for this?" Jason asks him, returning Tim's smile with one of his own.

Tim nods, practically bouncing with eagerness. "You know it."

"Alright, lovebirds. Cool it already," Donna breaks in, reminding them they aren't alone. "Cadet Drake."

"Sir," Tim says smartly, clicking his heels together and wiping the smile from his face. Kiss-up.

"Your temporary badge and Corps ident card." Donna hands over the card, but takes the time to fasten the badge to Tim's jacket, muttering to herself the whole while. " _Six_ months early—haven't had anyone breeze through training like this since he," she nods to Jason, "did it in five. Can't believe Dick agreed to this, there's no way Jason's going to be unbiased, ought to be a rule against it—"

"But there isn't, and Tim _does_ know _Redwing_ already. Plus, we already know he's not going to be on another ship, _and_ he's already established a cover that's tied to mine," Jason reminds her, listing the reasons Tim gave him earlier in the week when he hacked his way into Jason's room to argue the case for why Jason should be his mentor.

"If Oracle wasn't vouching for your infiltration skills, I'd say you slept your way to an early graduation," Donna grumbles, though she's smiling as she says it.

"Like I'd need to do that," Tim huffs. "And besides, you and Courier Grayson are the ones who make the final decision."

" _Nepotism_ ," Donna proclaims, then ruffles Tim's hair, causing the rest of it to break free of the tail, the band already flying away in the wind. "Make us proud, kiddo."

"Come on," Jason says impatiently, grabbing Tim's hand.

"You know," Tim says thoughtfully as he follows Jason through the hatch. "We never did get a honeymoon."

"Well, just your luck that we've got the whole entire universe to have one in," Jason says, tugging Tim close as the hatch seals behind them.

"Yeah," Tim says, sounding more than a little breathless as he pushes up on his tiptoes and Jason leans in. "Just my luck."

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), plague fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart.
> 
> Please visit, I'm kinda desperate for people to talk to in this fandom but too shy to reach out and start a conversation. _I'm so lonely._ D:


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